


Dark Light of Time

by Ramzes



Series: Ashes After the Wind [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grim man leading a grim life, that's what archives say of Viserys, the Second of His Name. What was the man behind the darkness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Smallfolk called the manor the Castle of Solitude and sometimes even Viserys forgot and named it so. The house at the seaside of Rhaenys' Hill was built in grey stone the shade of smoke, rising sharply with its many floors. All turns and sharp angles, it reflected Baela's taste more than Rhaena's, although both of them dwelled here when visiting the capital and they had both had an input at building it. Today, as King's Landing swirled, roared, and demanded vengeance, the stairs leading to Baela's solar looked more numerous as ever. Or was it Viserys feeling like a very old man of seventy when he had yet to celebrate his thrity-ninth nameday?

"What are you going to do when you grow old?" he asked upon entering. "You cannot keep living on the fifth floor forever."

Rhaena, quite sensibly, had chosen chambers on the second floor. Much better.

Baela sat with a parchment in her lap but she didn't look as if she were reading. She rose and came to him, taking his hands. Her eyes were red. She had been crying. "It wasn't your fault," she said urgently. "You did all you could to keep him safe. But at the end, no one could protect him from himself."

Oh but he should have tried harder. He should have insisted for a regency. He should have talked to the boy more. He should have explained better. He should have…

" _Keep him safe_ ," Aegon's voice came to him, the echo of a voice that it had turned into in those last weeks of his brother's life. " _Keep them all safe. Promise me."_ Eyes unnaturally bright staring at him urgently, imploringly. " _I will_ ," Viserys had promised. And failed.

"What are you going to do now?" Baela asked, leading him to the couch where they sat together, scarred fingers lacing through his.

"I've already started," he said. "The Dornish hostages are in the dungeon already. Almost all of them," he added. Then, he thought with faint disdain about Aegon's readiness to give him the Vaith girl for no greater crime that he had grown tired of her.

Baela nodded. "I thought so," she said. It was just now that Viserys took notice of the other inhabitants of the solar: Rhaena's companion from Oldtown, a youth and two girls – Rhaena's girl and two of Baela's children – and two others. He had seen them at court a few times but he had had no idea that they were friends with his own kin. Noticing his look, the boy drew an arm around the girl's shoulder protectively. They were no more than children, just a few years older than Daeron if this many. He squinted. "I thought we had taken only one hostage per House," he said, wondering which House had been spared by their lapse.

"Michael is of House Manwoody while Elsbet belongs to Toland," Baela said. "She's his stepsister, not sister."

"Good," Viserys said absent-mindedly and rubbed his forehead. The headache was terrible. "They'll have to go to the dungeons with the rest of them, you know," he said sternly, prepared to deal with any objection that she might voice, from reminding him of his mother's lapses with people at the taking of King's Landing to insisting that the two Dornish children be placed in her custody. Sometimes, Baela could be quite sentimental. But the hostages needed to be near at hand for him to make his decisions – and dungeons were also the place they'd be safest in, in case he chose to spare them.

She nodded. "Don't do anything rash," she only said. "We might still need them."

"I know," he said, watching her as she rose to order some refreshments. Now, with the candlelight washing over her and dancing over her face, he realized just how taut her burned side was. That was one of her bad days. When she was about to sit back with him, he waved her away. "Go to bed," he said sternly, "Have something to go to sleep. We'll talk again tomorrow."

The fact that she didn't protest told him just how badly she was faring. She reached out and he rose, holding her close, yet being careful not to touch her damaged skin. They both just needed the embrace. But then, Baela retreated, attended by the Reach lady, leaving him alone with a group of scared children following his every movement. He went to the door and nodded at the men of the City Watch who entered.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Michael Manwoody said bravely and the pair went past Viserys, the boy holding the girl's hand soothingly. Viserys followed the guards down the hall, making sure that all was as it should be but did not return to the solar where he'd no doubt be begged to be just and merciful. Instead, he went to a side-room because he could not bear going back to the noise and rage, and grief of the Red Keep a moment earlier than he should.

When he fell asleep in his big chair, the echo of those words came back to haunt him. _"Keep him safe,"_ Aegon said. _"I can look after myself,"_ Daeron claimed as he had when he had first decided to go to war with Dorne. " _You can't,"_ Viserys had wanted to roar and he hadn't because that would have only made his nephew's determination grow. He should have, he now thought as he drifted off to a dark land where Aegon's and Daeron's faces became one.

He woke up with a startle. By now, it was completely dark beyond the windows. The sea roared dully, mournfully. And at his side, a woman stood, offering him a goblet. Amara Hightower. He drank and nodded gratefully. He didn't need to ask what had happened but he was impressed with the lady's bravery. Few people would dare to let him know that they had seen him scared out of his mind in the clutches of a nightmare like a bloody child but this tiny woman had actually shaken him awake and stayed for the aftermath. Silently, she placed the carafe on a stool next to him, bowed and left. Viserys sighed, rose and stretched his numbed limbs before looking for a parchment and pen that had been also insightfully left close by. He might be haunted by his own failures to Aegon and Daeron but he was still the Hand of the King. He had a duty to the King. King Baelor. And this time, he would not fail.

* * *

_Years later…_

It was one of those days. The loveliest. The days sun turned the city of King's Landing into an abode of golden light, roofs and temples shining and the misery of the slums temporarily hidden, numbed. The River Row was brimming with life and the Street of Steel erupted smoke that made the Hand of the King think of Dragonstone and the smoke of the volcano, the smoke of the dragons there. All dead now.

It was also one of the days he dreaded most, for it would ruthlessly reveal to his unwilling eyes the truth of the madness reigning over them. In the hall of the Small Council, it was easier to pretend that the King was just eccentric. He was certainly well-minded. Even his ideas of giving loafs of bread to the poor every day came from a good place. But in that gilded tomb where three young women, one of them a mere child, watched life go past them he couldn't hide from the truth. Baelor was dangerous – and a murderer. He was murdering the girls' youth and very lives…

"Have you come to bring us freedom, Uncle?" Elaena asked eagerly. She always did and Viserys felt sick at replying that he hadn't. Then, he turned away, so he wouldn't have to watch hope going out of her eyes.

"Of course he hasn't," Daena snapped. "He never will. Unless we do something ourselves…"

But Elaena had already fled the room, sobs choking her. Rhaena looked at Daena with a mild reprieve on her face. "It wasn't nice of you, Daena," she said softly.

A look of guilt crossed Daena's eyes and was gone as quickly as a puff of wind. Daenaera had said that her daughter's suffering and defiance were growing stronger by the day and now Viserys could see what she had meant. This place was killing Daena and he could do nothing to help her.

"What isn't nice is letting her believe that one day, Baelor will just set us free," the girl said angrily but this time, Viserys was more concerned about Rhaena than her. She was way too serene. And she was dressed like a septa. She was getting used to her circumstances all too well. Not that Viserys wished her Daena's misery, of course, but the thought that she might become like Baelor…

No, not Baelor. Naerys. As strange as it was to Viserys, there were some women who just felt drawn to the gods and the life of septas. He had truly believed that with time, his daughter would come out of it but she hadn't. Even motherhood hadn't changed that.

"When is Daeron coming?" Elaena asked. Viserys hadn't noticed her return. There was no traces of tears on her face. She was smiling.

"Soon," he said, amazed at the child's tenacity. Elaena didn't look away even as the gilded doors closed between them, returning him to the world of life and sun and shutting her up in the abode of forced childhood, innocence, and shards of a world that Baelor's madness had condemned her to _. I failed you as well, child,_ Viserys thought, the sun getting suddenly darker as Aegon's insistence that he kept them all safe was getting clearer and brighter in his mind, pressing him down with the weight of yet another failure.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Oberonsexton and Baelorfan, for commenting!

_Years back again…_

Alyn returned mere two weeks after the news broke. He was pale and almost bowled over with the taste of betrayal and defeat – so much that at first, Viserys didn't recognize the man who had come to take him from Lys. Alyn had been so youthful and glowing, in the boy's eyes at least. Like the Warrior himself. Who is this, Viserys wondered. Do they think that we'll believe this ruse?

Alyn stood before the dais and bowed, and then there was no doubt that it was him. "My lord Hand," he said . He didn't ask, "Where is the King?" but Viserys could hear the question in his silence. Baelor was, of course, somewhere off to pray for the best outcome of this last clash, leaving Viserys to deal with the mundane details. Viserys didn't mind. He felt most comfortable when he was in charge. But he didn't sit on the Iron Throne, although in this instance, he was entitled to. He had done it hundreds of times when he had held court in Aegon's place but not once with Daeron. And it still felt like Daeron's seat.

"Welcome back," Viserys said neutrally. "Tell us, in your own words, what happened."

"We lost." Alyn said concisely. "That's what happened. We lost!"

The words fell like stones amidst the silent crowd and then angry voices rose, from disbelief to fury and everything in between. Daena had actually jumped from her seat and shaking her fist at Alyn, mouthing words like "coward" and "traitor". Actually, she was probably shouting them but everyone else's voices drowned hers out.

Viserys raised a hand and the noise slowly went down. Daena stood where she was, trying to stare him down, but finally she sank back in her chair. As wild and grieving as she was, and a queen now, she was just sixteen. There would be some time before she could challenge her uncle.

"Explain," Viserys said.

"I can conquer and ruin their measly towns again but it'll be of no use," Alyn replied. "It's the smallfolk who doesn't want us – and the Prince is now openly supporting their desire."

"That's because we didn't take his own children," Daena said angrily. "It's easy for him to appease the crowd when he doesn't have anything to lose."

"And how were we supposed to do that when all throughout the war and the brief subjugation Mariah Martell was hidden away and Maron was not even a babe in his mother's womb?" Viserys asked icily, the lack of sleep adding to his worries and making him unusually short-tempered.

She didn't answer.

"It isn't worth it," Alyn said tiredly. "What is in there for us? Dorne is a bare and barren land that has only taken the life of our best men. Leave them stew and die in that godforsaken desert!"

The pandemonium of rage started anew, "coward" being mixed to "should be arrested". Alyn's eyes suddenly gleamed and he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Come on," he invited. "Who is the one who'll try to take me?" And just like this, he became the hero of Viserys' early youth once again before reverting to a broken and world-weary man.

Despite everyone's indignation, few were brave enough to try – and when they did, Viserys rose. "Stop this nonsense!" he ordered angrily and they did. Just like this. "Tell me what cards they hold to their chests," he told Alyn and now everyone went silent, all attention. There had been so many going with Daeron to reduce Dorne back to submission and they had learned only the names of those who had died with him. What about the others? Young men eager for glory, like their king, eager for war prizes, eager for so much. Fear started creeping into the great room filled with perfumes and the sweat of dozens of people… and Viserys could finally no longer contain his own fear, not different from the fear of many of those who now wished to know and not to know at the same time.

"There are many highborn hostages," Alyn finally said. "Prince Aemon is the most prominent among them. He's the most warily guarded one."

Viserys sat back in his chair, his bones turning to mush with relief. "At least he lives," Naerys breathed.

"He would have better died than yield to them," Daena said bitterly and while in other circumstances Viserys might have smiled at her strong opinions, he now just wanted to slap her… and then he became disgusted with himself. Aegon had adored his strong-willed daughter.

"Oh stop making a fool out of yourself," Naerys snapped and Daena was so shocked that she went silent. "Do learn to speak only when you have something to say, would you?"

"Shame on those who speak foul of the Prince," Alyn said heavily and the young Queen blushed. "People in Dorne are still talking about his defense of the King and his bravery."

Viserys knew they didn't use the admiring tone Alyn Oakenfist was using but that didn't matter. Aemon lived and that was all he cared about. He smiled and finally admitted to himself that he hadn't kept the Dornish hostages alive just because of politics. He had kept them because he had known that he might have be in the same position their parents in Dorne were.

* * *

 

"What is Baelor going to do?" Alyn asked as soon as they were alone with goblets of wine in the great house at Rhaenys's Hill – he, Viserys and Baela, Rhaena and Garmund Hightower. "He isn't going to kill the hostages, is he?"

"No," Viserys said. "And even if he were, I would have not let him."

Alyn gave him a look of skepticism. "I think we've all heard this before, haven't we?" he murmured and everyone paused. That last campaign had left him truly bitter, like a peasant who sowed a field of oats again and again, only to lose the crop to hailstorm repeatedly. "I'm sorry," he said after a while. "I don't know why I'm so angry."

"I think we all know the reason," Garmund said wearily. He had just arrived from Oldtown where a huge part of their host that had marched to Dorne had found refuge after the devastation of the King's death. Garmund had taken more than a few wounds in the last battles and now had difficulties in using his left arm. "I so hoped that it would be the last war I'd see in my life."

They stayed silent, each turning to their own memories of the war of their childhood or youth. It had taken years for the wounds to scar, for them to start living in peace and now it was all gone, fifty thousand men – fifty thousand! – losing their lives, leaving the realm without the income of their labour, many of their families doomed to starvation and misery, the Seven Kingdoms losing a huge part of its prestige, lords calling for vengeance or peace, according to having family imprisoned in Dorne or not, and there was no way to appease everyone. None. Alyn was angry with Daeron, angry with Viserys, angry with those treacherous Dornishmen and he had the right of it. Especially when his fleet would surely be the one to bear the brunt of the war again if the voices for war – with Daena's among them, no less! – prevailed.

"I could hardly stand them either," Garmund finally said. "We all followed the empty dreams of a boy who didn't know any better. So many lost their lives in those cursed sands that grow nothing just because Daeron said so. I shudder to think what those taken prisoners are suffering right now. And they're bitter that we didn't die to the last man. I wish Daena could see the men I led back to Oldtown. Those who survived, I mean. There's hardly one without a wound that won't heal."

"She's young," Viserys said sharply. "She's going to learn."

Baela gave him a look that was almost pitying. "Brother dearest," she said, "I admire your loyalty. But sometimes, you just have to face the truth. I admire Daena's spirit in some ways but in others, not at all. It's a good thing that she doesn't have a sexual hold over Baelor. She's so angry that she'd risk the death of all our men in Dorne to try and conquer it again."

She said it without thinking but suddenly, she couldn't quite look at him. None of them could.

"Are the Dornish hostages in good state?" Alyn asked instead.

"Yes," Baela replied. "Of course they are. Are you interested in anyone in particular?"

Her voice said more than the words. Viserys glanced at her, surprised. Instead of the patience and sympathy to her husband that had been there only moments ago, now there was hostility, her eyes not soft amethysts but cold sapphires. Viserys suddenly remembered the rumours from years ago, of the ailing Lord Toland's beautiful young wife with black hair and golden-tinged skin. Word had linked her name to Alyn's when he had been still visiting Dorne as a friend and when her daughter had been born, there had been many who had been convinced that the child was not Toland but Velaryon – or as Velaryon as Alyn himself was. Viserys had never given those rumours much thought since it was Alyn's business and Baela had never said anything, nor looked stung. Now, he tried to imagine Elsbet Toland's face, look for any resemblance. But he came with nothing. He had never had any reason or time to look at the young hostage close. It was enough to know that she was safely kept here. Suddenly, he wondered if in his attempts to take care of Aegon he had neglected noticing Baela's needs. But he could do nothing about it now – and he'd hurt her pride if she knew that he had noticed. Rhaena had also looked away.

"What about Aemon?" Viserys finally asked the question that he had been burning with impatience to ask all the time but known that if Alyn hadn't said anything in the throne room, it must have been because the news were very bad. He had not asked when they had been first left alone either but now he finally braced himself.

Alyn didn't reply. He even looked downwards.

"Do not tell me," Viserys whispered and felt shocked when his goodbrother looked grateful, as if he really thought he wouldn't have to.

"Do tell," Viserys said after a long moment.

Alyn did, still without looking up, and the words fell over Viserys like the taunts of those sailors in the galley had once. Kept in a dark cell… treated with the utmost disrespect... starved… he even heard something about a cage and he couldn't make sense of it so he asked and when Alyn replied, Viserys' hand went to his throat. For a moment, he really felt as if there was a hand there, squeezing life out of him ever so slowly…

Next thing he knew, he was in the bed of the chamber he used when he stayed to spend the night here. Amara Hightower pushed a goblet into his hand and he drank. "It's becoming a habit with us, my lady, isn't it," he murmured. "Perhaps I should make you Grand Maester."

"I think I might actually make a better one than the current man," she replied drily. "I know him from Oldtown…"

Viserys smiled weakly and then tried to remember what had happened. "What?" he finally asked.

"You collapsed in the solar so we had you brought here," she replied briefly and thoroughly. "Fortunately, it was a brief spell so I was only tasked to have a look at you from time to time. For how long have you been depriving yourself from sleep?"

He had collapsed? That was ridiculous. He didn't collapse. Never. Not when Aegon had fled, leaving him to the non-existing mercy of the man on that galley. Not when Jace had died before him, taking his hope of freedom that had been so nearly within reach down into the green sea. Not even when Larra had left him. For the Seven's sake, he hadn't collapsed at Aegon's very death!

But then he remembered. And he was about to collapse again. "It's true, isn't it?" he asked. "About the cage. About everything."

He had no doubt that she'd know. She'd been in Rhaena's confidence for many years. Baela also spoke admiringly of her intelligence.

"It is," she said softly and he closed his eyes.

"Do you want to be alone?" she asked.

"No."

The answer was instantaneous and spontaneous. No, he didn't. He was so tired of being alone. The women he took to his bed were just that – for bed. His sisters had troubles of their own, lives of their own. Aegon was no doubt raging at the cursed Dornishmen with some young lords who also burned for war. Naerys would be praying. And in the long night that was already encroaching, he'd have plenty of time to envision everything that Alyn had told him about. He couldn't stay alone.

"Stay," he said. "Please."

The word came out with ease that surprised him. A man of spare words, he had had little reason to pretend that his orders were pleas.

When he opened his eyes, she had settled down in a chair close by. She hesitated and then took his hand. "It isn't your fault, Your Grace," she finally said and he suddenly got the feeling that this soft-spoken woman that he had known and not noticed for years could see in his soul. There was sympathy in her eyes that was too deep to be related to his failures as Hand. It was an understanding on a much deeper lever.

"Is your son there as well?" Viserys asked.

Amara shook her head. "My daughter's husband," she said and while it wasn't the same, it was close enough for him to close his eyes and rest, basking in the nearness of someone whose compassion had nothing to do with the decisions he had made and not made, the mistakes he had made and escaped – and that was inevitable with the other Targaryens, bound to each other by power as much as they were by blood. I failed him, he thought, for the first time admitting that in his care for his brother and nephews, he had found little time to care for his son. He had always accepted that Aemon, as capable and valiant as he was, knew how to take care of himself – and that was ridiculous. Capable and valiant people still got their dragons taken down. Still had their lives lost at the whims of others.

"Go to sleep," Amara said softly. "He'll be back, safe and healthy. They all will."

She couldn't promise any such thing, of course, but in the clutches of grief and despair, that was just what he needed – something about him and not the realm. Something about Aemon and not his duty. He closed his eyes and closed the small cold hand between his palms, holding onto her. At this moment, he had no way of knowing that one day, this woman would make a whole man out of him once again. He only knew that – that in the middle of regrets that, for the first time, had nothing to do with Aegon, he was glad to hold her hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who left a comment!

The rock of the kingdoms. The one who kept the realm from falling apart. The greatest statesman ever loved since Jaehaerys the Conciliator had left this world. The real legacy of the sorrowful Dance of Dragons – a better legacy than either of the two claimants deserved, for Viserys Targaryen cherished power only as something that should be preserved for his brother's children. As years went by, those accolades would turn sour, accusing him of kinslaying, greed, whatnot. But in those dark days when Baelor was away, completely given to his insane idea to establish peace with Dorne, everyone looked up to him. His arrical in the hall of the Small Council as he had been doing for twenty years now meant that everything was still in control. The King might be absent, given to his misplaced generosity of spirit but the real ruler of the land was here, dealing with the everyday matters that made it able for the huge conglomerate of lands to function as a single realm, instead of falling prey to various lords' petty vanities and grudges. As long as the Hand of the King was here, there was stability. Everyone kept stealing looks at his face, tried to hear the unspoken in his voice to get their bearings in a situation that could change at any given moment.

And it did, just in a way that Viserys couldn't have predicted in a lifetime.

"He actually _succeeded_?" Aegon asked, for once unable to hide his shock. Viserys did only slightly better. "There is going to be peace?"

"Looks like it," Viserys replied, his eyes running through the lines of Baelor's letter. Hidden between the ramblings about the mercy of the Seven, the words lay, confirming what Lord Darklyn was now telling them.

"I thought he wouldn't even make it there," Aegon confessed. "Not afoot. He was never strong."

"Be silent," Viserys snapped. Aegon saying things that were better left unsaid was not new to him but he was going too far!

"At one moment, I did, too," Darklyn admittef and in the fatigue on his face Viserys recognized just what a great toll Baelor's plans had already taken on those who had accompanied him there. "But he succeeded. And the peace will be strengthened by a marital alliance."

What marital alliance? As far as Viserys knew, the Prince of Dorne didn't have any female relative who was unwed. Not anymore. He looked at Aegon again, his eyes hard.

"Prince Daeron will wed the Prince of Dorne's daughter," Darklyn supplied. "I saw the girl myself. She's a sweet child but well, a child, ultimately. So the wedding will take place when…"

"Never," Aegon snapped. "What does he think he's doing? He thinks he can marry _my_ son to a Dornish snake? I don't think so!"

But Viserys was already taking all considerations into account. If Baelor managed to pull this through… Was it possible that the peace be restored? Dorne recognized the firstborn child as heir. The Martells certainly did. If Daeron could get the influence that Drazenko Rogare had once wielded, they would not need to incorporate Dorne. Not formally.

_Perhaps I was wrong about this one, Aegon_ , he thought. _Perhaps we both were._

Now, he had to convince the court that Baelor's peace would last. Somehow. Even if he was far from convinced himself. But he was very good at appearing confident.

Perhaps with time, Baelor would prove that despite the strange start of his reign, he could shoulder his duties at least to the extent Aegon has. When that happened, Viserys could finally find peace, congratulating himself for a job well done.

But that was during the day. When the sun started setting, his steps inevitably led him to Rhaenys' Hill where he could voice his fears. Only there could he admit that he worried about Aemon more than he did about Baelor. That he'd delay and dance around declaring war even if, the Seven forbid, Baelor died. As long as Aemon was in their hands, Viserys' inaction was a sure thing. It was good that they didn't know it.

"Daena has started assembling a party of her own," Baela told him one night. "Of younglings who decry the peace. She claims she'll try to convince Baelor to change his mind and end this humiliating peace. She's all after vengeance."

Viserys gave her a long look. "Is that all?" he asked evenly.

She sighed. "No, it isn't."

So the very next day, Viserys made an appearance in the young Queen's chambers, taking her aback. For a moment, there was a flash of fear in her eyes and then she dismissed her attendants. Viserys hadn't expected anything less of her. She would always defy the fear that she felt demeaned her. Daena Targaryen was no coward.

"I've heard you're now openly calling for war," he said without threading circles around her. Daena was so brutal in her honesty, there was nothing hidden about her. He didn't need to peel layers of deceit and courtly pretences.

"You've heard right," she confirmed. "Baelor keeps humiliating us, now turning your own grandson into a tool of our debasement. You might not even care about this but I do. Someone has to show people that not all of us have lost our common sense!"

"Or what you call common sense," Viserys muttered. "I guess no one of your friends was old enough to go with Daeron the first time?"

She bristled. "They may not have any experience with war but they've been trained for it since early childhood. And they know dishonour when they see it. None of them is willing to sit and watch as we grand marriage to those who murdered their king under a peace banner!" She tried to stare him down. "If Baelor cannot be the man in our sham of marriage or his rule, then I'll have to be that. I have no choice."

Viserys looked around. Everything about Daena's solar was either black or white, from curtains to chests. She had even had her tables repainted. Black for her father, for her grief for Daeron. White for her anger at Baelor. Between those, nothing. All of a sudden, he wasn't angry with her anymore. Not even irate.

"Baelor is trying to achieve something big, Daena," he said softly. "I was against this method of his but…"

"Were you?" she cut in.

Startled, he paused. Daena was so loud and expressive in her feelings that it was easy to forget how sharply perceptive she was. Fortunately, she didn't insist on receiving an answer.

"You think that if he achieves peace, it'll be enough. I don't agree. And I am not a child, Uncle, so don't try to talk down to me."

_Of course you're still a child, Daena. Only children reach out for what they want without asking about the price. Life presented Daeron with a big bill indeed._ One of the hardest things he had learned with his own children was this very same lesson. Any of them – Aegon, Rhaena and Baela, Viserys himself – had been this young, ever. Their childhood and early youth had been cut short, forcing them to mature faster, so Viserys was always surprised when he saw youths being childish.

"You should stop trying to undermine Baelor," he tried again. "Damaging his authority would be no good to anyone."

But of course, Daena didn't think of it as ruining Baelor's authority. After some more talking with no result, he left, feeling that evening couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Why, make it clear to her playmates that their idea is a very bad one. And one that can cost them their place at court. I might have failed to make her listen to reason but that doesn't mean I'll fail with them. They are likely to be afraid of me."

No one was surprised. Rhaena just looked at him and pushed her plate away. Viserys immediately regretted the fact that she had even come to know about the whole affair. She was a few months along and this time, it wasn't easy. She was constantly sick and fatigued. In moments like those, he wanted to shake Garmund and ask what in the seven hells he had been thinking. Being with child was harder for a woman in her forties than even the same woman when she had been in her twenties. Worrying over a potential war again was the last thing Rhaena needed but at least she didn't have sons who might lose their lives at the battlefield.

Alyn gave him a square look. "Be careful when using fear, Viserys," he warned. "Your lady mother tried to rule through fear and it cost her King's Landing."

Viserys was about to ask sarcastically what ideas Alyn thought would work. Had even those he was close to started suspecting him in wanting to use fear? He didn't say anything because he was just too tired and unprepared for another argument.

"Well, what do you suggest?" Baela asked reasonably. "I, myself, can't think of a single thing besides letting them rouse spirits, winning people to their cause, and generally trying to push their will on Baelor when he returns. If things go far enough, Daena will be forced to take a firm stand against him before she knows it."

This confirmation that there were others who shared his fears did nothing to put Viserys' mind at rest. And still, even with this new concern, he knew that when he withdrew, he wouldn't dream of a war. He would dream of a cage…

A few hours later, he found himself surprised as he raised his hand and knocked at the door. He wasn't sure he'd do it again, so he was relieved and scared in equal measure when she opened in a minute or two.

She wore a robe that looked like a night one, the nightgown under barely showing. Her long dark-brown hair was loose. He had never realized how thick it was.

She looked a little surprised to see him but she didn't ask what he was doing here. _A little like Daena_ , Viserys thought. She wouldn't dance around what she knew.

"I've been pacing before your room for weeks," he said. "More like months, in fact."

He had been stunned to catch himself doing it the first time. He had never been hesitant in making his intentions clear. The fact that there were any intentions of this kind had been an even greater surprise. He had never looked at her twice before but somehow, the night of Alyn's return had changed everything. The night when he had most certainly not been thinking about her the way he did now.

Amara Hightower nodded without smiling or even blinking. From behind her, the moonlight made her hair shine but hid her face some. Viserys was a little surprised that she clearly didn't close her shutters. Her lack of expression suddenly made him stop. Had he been reading her wrong? Was that fear that he was seeing?

"I know," she said simply.

Not fear. Another emotion that gave her voice a breathless note.

"I will enter this time," he said.

Silently, she stepped back so he could come in but even in this, there was no flirtation. No courting and no pretended innocence.

"Only if you want me to," he amended. The memory of Larra whom he had finally realized had never wanted him flashed through his mind but went away quickly. The woman in front of him was no young maiden obedient to her family's will, even if that meant wedding a boy of twelve.

"I do want you to stay," Amara finally said. Her voice was steady, her demeanor calm. She held out a hand – the hand that had shaken him out of his nightmare, the hand that had made him feel less alone – and he took it. Excitement rushed through him when he got his confirmation: this time, her fingers were hot like a five-petaled flower of fire.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Baelorfan and Riana1, for your lovely comments, you help me stay inspired!

There were a few days, at most, until their return. Two or three but no more than week.

King's Landing waited with bated breath. Even while making the preparations for the forthcoming celebrations, Viserys was surprised by the wild enthusiasm and goodwill of the people. Various guilds were arranging broad displays; seamstresses sold the three-dragon banner on prices that were not nearly as increased as they could be. People walking in the street, blacksmiths raising their hammers, merchants showing their silks in the most flattering manner would often pause and look at the sea – wasn't the ship coming? In the Red Keep Naerys often scolded Daeron and Elaena for being too wild and enthused in their anticipation but Viserys could say that her heart wasn't in it. Even she stopped at the windows more often now. She, too, waited.

Sometimes, Viserys felt as if he were the only one who feared Baelor's return almost as much as he had feared his mad travel to Dorne. Sometimes, he thought the boy had the makings to be a great ruler and sometimes, he remembered all the small things that troubled him in regards to Baelor's mental stability. Especially the compulsive turning of objects in his hands, not unlike the way Viserys' lady mother had turned her rings. _Click, click, click._ Sometimes, Viserys thought he could hear the sound still, the faint echo filling the dark stones of Dragonstone after his grandfather's death and while they waited for Jace and Luke's return. The trials met in Dorne had hardly been conducive to greater state of mind. Aemon's letters from Storm's End, although always measured, bespoke of underlying fears for his cousin in both body and mind. Would Baelor ever fully recover?

But those were the questions that were easier for him. The ones that coiled in the back of his mind to slowly invade his entire being and rise their ugly head at the moments he finally felt that he had some peace of mind, a brief moment of reprieve, a conversation with Naerys about her last charity or watching Elaena and Daeron in their games – they wouldn't let him have an uninterrupted moment. In his frequent letters, Aemon rarely mentioned anything about himself and when he did, it was always in relation to Baelor. How Baelor's recovery filled him with hope. How they would soon be able to come home. Underneath, the exhaustion of it all was so very evident. Was he despondent? Was he struggling to regain his own health, all the while taking care of Baelor who preferred him to all others? He had looked tired and weary even when he had ridden out with Daeron that last time for a campaign that Daeron had never come back from.

He now spent in the Castle of Solitude even more time than before, talking politics or extremely non-important things with his sisters until twilight came. He often stayed to spend the night, although Amara had left King's Landing two moons ago. Her daughter's failing health demanded her care and while Viserys understood her and didn't hold it against her, sometimes he felt strangely abandoned, the loneliness and despair of Larra's leaving echoing like dark bells against something that was nothing like his past at all. It was strange how different it was with Amara than all the other women who had experienced his mercurial passion in the last twenty-five years. He had expected that it would be like that with Amara as well, that his hunger for the look in her eyes and the outline of her smile would go away soon after he took her to bed. Instead, they had only grown and he now missed her more than he had expected to miss a woman he had only had a relationship with for four moons. Still, it made him feel better to enter her bedchamber before going to her own and stare at the vials and combs that she had left behind. Sometimes, he had even buried his face in her pillows until the serving maids had taken them away for washing.

Today, the conversation of how to best train falcons was interrupted by the arrival of the Queen Mother and Viserys immediately started contemplating the best way to excuse himself and leave. Lately, he and Daenaera hadn't been at the best of terms. But she looked anxious and almost too fearful to hope and in her, he recognized his own feelings. Like him, she was scared that something would prevent their return at the last moment. He stayed in his chair and tried to follow the conversation but exhaustion soon weighed his lids down. He vaguely heard Rhaena asking about Daena and the preparations and that startled him awake for a while. Daenaera adamantly refused to see that her daughter harboured mixed feelings about Baelor's return. On the one hand, he was Daena's brother and husband and she was concerned about him; on the other, should he not return, she stood a good chance to become queen in her own right. In the middle of it was the fact that her defiance and trying to assemble a party of her own to sabotage Baelor and Viserys' efforts for peace had resulted in Viserys practically removing all her friends from court, rendering her to a non-entity – which, of course, Daenaera held against him. D _amn you, Aegon_ , he caught himself thinking all too often. _It was you who left me in this mess._

"She can't wait," Daenaera said without missing a heartbeat and this time, something in the tone of her voice struck Viserys as desperate. A little like when she had tried to convince Daeron against his ill-advised decision of a reconquest. Like when she had been waiting for Aegon to go to her when she had already flowered All of a sudden, his anger at her disappeared, taken away by the memories of their youth. He wasn't even irate anymore. _It's hard for you, isn't it, sister_ , he thought and soon after, he drifted away.

* * *

The moment he saw them, he couldn't say who was who. Aemon was of slim build, with none of the robust look of those who were second to none in sheer strength but he was robust. Strong. More fast than powerful but still powerful enough. Now, he looked as frail as Baelor with his continuous fasting. There were identical lines of overwhelming exhaustion and privations in their gaunt cheeks. Their eyes were equally hollowed. Dark Sister looked out of place at his hip, as if a boy of ten had stolen his father's sword for a wild game. He walked slowly, as if he were still carrying the weight of an unconscious king, and the roar of the elated crowd seemed to sink him further down. Viserys was glad that Daenaera, overriding Daena's objections, had chosen two docile animals for them – lovely but timid. He really didn't think that either of them was up to temperamental mounts. In fact, he was almost of a mind to help Aemon dismount but his son managed on his own, as clumsily as the effort was. At least he didn't fall down.

"There is going to be a celebratory feast?" Viserys heard him mutter on the way to the White Sword Tower. " _Tonight?_ "

"You don't need to attend," Naerys said quickly. "You can stay in your chambers and rest instead."

Aemon didn't answer either way and that more than anything alerted Viserys as to how broken his son was. Since the day he had taken the white cloak, Aemon had been fiercely determined in fulfilling his duties. To even consider staying in his chambers while Baelor was getting used to their new circumstances was a sign of how badly he was faring.

"How much sand there is in Dorne?" Daeron asked curiously. "Is it all red?"

Aemon looked at the child and his face brightened. He laughed softly. "Why red? It's the mountains that are called so."

"But in the Chronicles of Oldan I read that the desert was red in colour and…"

Viserys didn't even know who Oldan was and he doubted that Aemon did. But he looked invigorated and more cheerful just looking at his nephew. "Come with me. You can wait until I have a bath and then I'll tell you about the not-red sands and you'll tell me about that Oldan."

"I see that we aren't invited," Aegon muttered. He only looked irate but Viserys felt a sudden pang realizing yet again just how unwelcome he was when Aemon was in any state other than perfect and ready to deliver his best.

That night, he left the celebratory feast as soon as a decent amount of time had passed. He stared at the stars twinkling in the clear sky and looked at the distant White Sword Tower, trying to see if there was a light in Aemon's window. He hoped that his son was sleeping and recovering and it rankled him that he couldn't just go and see. Instead, he headed for Rhaenys' Hill once more and paused when he saw light in the window he hadn't expected to see it.

The solar was dark. Baela had declined the invitation because with age, her skin was becoming more sensitive to outside attacks and the combination of candle smoke, scents, perfumes, and sweat of hundreds of bodies had been sure to drive her to claw the skin off herself and she had clearly retired early. The rest of them were still in the Red Keep. Viserys was glad, although he didn't think the secret could be kept forever.

Amara was just changing into a night robe when he entered. She turned in quick surprise and smiled at him but shook her head anyway. "You should not enter without knocking first," she rebuked and he smiled at her easy way of doing it. The rest of them had been happy to take anything from him, from ansent-mindedness to bad moods that they hadn't deserved at all.

"I'll remember," he said and came near, still not touching her. "I didn't know you were coming back. Are you well? You look tired."

"I am. Both well and tired," she said. "It was hard to look at her with that stick tied to her arm but I think the bone is healing now. And while my grandson is magnificent, it's been a while since I last had to chase a child of two before he fell in the fireplace."

Viserys chuckled at the fondness and dry humour in her voice. Her dark brown hair was shining in the candlelight, not quite dry yet. He made a step to her and then another one, reached out to touch her velvety skin and basked in the nearness of someone who wanted him there.

Amara drew back and examined him. "Are _you_ well?" she asked. "You look like you've been in hell."

"I was, in a way," he confirmed. "In a hell of my own making. Come here."

She did, readily, and the reaching of her arms around him somehow made it all better. Or at least more bearable. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't want to leave you alone in a moment like this. I just had no choice."

"Of course you had no choice," he murmured back. "Just… don't send me away now, will you? Don't tell me that you are too tired or something."

She laughed again. "I am too tired," she said. "And you can take care of me while I am in this state."

_How does she know?_ The thought that she had gotten to know him this well in such a short time that she could guess what was rankling in his mind startled him but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. He poured her some wine and sat on the bed with her feet in his lap, enjoying the feeling of being needed, wanted. He only noticed that the fire had turned to ashes when Amara held out a hand for him to climb in. He obeyed with alacrity, dimly realizing that for tonight, he had found the cure against solitude.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who commented. Equally big excuses for the late update.

"It's important, my lady. I must insist."

"I am sure it isn't this important that it cannot wait until dawn. He'll be back in the Red Keep before most of it has even awakened."

"It'll be too late until then. I must talk to him now."

"I told you, he's sleeping. I am not waking him up unless King's Landing is burning or something like this. He hasn't slept more than a few hours for the last week – total! It just won't do."

Viserys followed the whispered conversation, not quite sure if he was already awake or was dreaming this improbable scene. Surely Aemon couldn't be here? Amara's name had never been spoken between them but although Aemon certainly knew who she was, he'd go out of his way to acknowledge it. Aemon in the small house Viserys had bought Amara a mere week ago? With her standing at the door of their bedchamber like a… guard?

"I'm awake," he said and when they turned, he knew for sure that he was. Unless he was dreaming this part as well, of course. "It's fine, Amara," he added as he threw on the robes he had left crumpled on the floor last night. Aemon looked away, embarrassed. Amara just looked at him, trying to see how recovered he was and what part of the exhaustion of the last month still weighed him down.

He nodded at Aemon to fully enter. "What is it?" he asked, his worry rising with the realization that it must be something extremely important.

Aemon looked at Amara, undecided, but when she started to out, Viserys stopped her. "You can hear everything, my lady," he said. "And besides, this is your house."

She's be met with enough distrust soon enough. She should be safe from it in her own home, at least. And when he saw her smile of surprise and gratitude, he knew he had done the right thing. "So?" he demanded. "Do take a seat," he added impatiently but his son didn't take one.

"Baelor is getting the girls imprisoned," he blurted out and Viserys stared at him. Just stared, even as he heard Amara gasp.

"What?" he asked. "Has Aegon been making wild tales once again? I will knock this ugly fun out of him but I really thought you knew better. And for that you left the Red Keep in the dead of night? Do the maesters know about that? You've only started standing upright for so long!"

It was now Aemon's turn to stare, his eyes purple and wide, their white still yellowish – a sure sign that he was not as recovered as he pretended to be. He needed a moment to realize that his father had taken his information in, considered it, and dismissed it as a rumour – all in the split of a moment.

"It wasn't Aegon," he said slowly, deliberately, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation. "In a few days, Baelor is planning to send the girls to live in that vault where he Dornish hostages used to live. Remember that he had it refurnished? We all thought he wanted to make it lodgings for foreign guests. But it has been for the girls all along."

Impossible! Baelor must be mad if he truly had something like that in mind.

_He dissolved his marriage_ , Viserys reasoned out. _And since his return from Dorne, he's been acting as if he… as if he is mad._ The concern on his son's face confirmed it for him.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go to the palace."

They were almost at the door when he realized just how easily he had forgotten about Amara and spun around. She stared at him from near the bed, the auburn of her hair glowing gently, appealing and so much reminding him about the soft pillow where he liked to spread it after lovemaking and before they went to sleep. How often had Larra watched him like that? He didn't know. He had rarely turned, yet he knew that she had.

"I'll see you soon," he said and she shook her head, as if she wanted to say that it didn't matter. Her eyes were full of concern.

"Go," she only said and off he went. She was a different woman, Amara. Older. More experienced. Less desperate. And that made all the difference.

All the way up Aegon's Hill, Viserys considered how he should go about this. Sleep was important and whole he could function well enough without a good portion of it for quite a while, that same experience had taught him that sometimes, the very lack of sleep could make a man unreasonable. Or more unreasonable. He decided against rousing Baelor but going to him the moment the King awoke. Around them, King's Landing was dark and silent. No brigands would risk attacking armed guards, so even they lay low which only acerbated Viserys' feeling that none of this was real, that they were running a foolish errand in a world that did not truly exist.

In the Red Keep, Viserys sent a servant to ask if the King was awake, just in case. When the boy left, he looked at his son. _There will be many weeks before he becomes his former self_ , he thought. "Since we're talking about sleep, you'd better go get some yourself, Aemon. Surely the other six Kingsguard can guard Baelor just fine on their own until you recover?"

That was the moment Aemon let fatigue claim him. His mission was over. His father would fix the matters now. He nodded. "I will. Good night, Father."

"May you dream of good things, Aemon." But Viserys knew that his son's dreams would likely be haunted by betrayal, death, and a cage… He had sat there a few times until Aemon's breathing evened out again and the Seven saw fit to relieve him of the nightmares. For a few hours. A few nights, sometimes. Viserys couldn't wait for the day when they'd be gone for a week.

Suddenly, Aemon stopped and turned. Viserys was taken aback. "What is it?"

"Is she anything like my mother? Lady Amara?" Aemon asked. His eyes were narrowed on Viserys, as if he was trying to pry the answer out of him. "Or is she more… beautiful? Gentler?"

"She isn't anything like your mother," Viserys said. He wasn't about to say anything more. The two women were so apart from each other in his mind and grew further that each time he thought about Larra that he could not even begin to compare them. But he could see that Aemon was sorry for even asking this much.

When in a short while, the door opened, he looked up. But instead of the servant, he saw Daena.

By the gods, she looked like a madwoman! Her silvery gown was in tatters, her face was so white that snow would seem dark in comparison. But her eyes were huge and black in the lamplight, so wide that they left no room for the white, so it looked that in her pale face, two black precipices had opened. He saw the red streaks in that snowy skin – where she had clawed herself hard enough to draw blood. Her hands were clenched in fists, with silver hairs sticking from both ends.

"Uncle!" she cried out. "You must stop him!"

"I will stop him, Daena," Viserys promised and then reconsidered. "I'll try to prevent this from happening. I'll talk to him as soon as…"

Her entire body sagged with relief; startled, Viserys wondered if she had thought that perhaps he'd refuse her his help. She entered his solar fully and he noticed how gaunt she was. Ever since the shame of rejection, she had had trouble eating, so she now resembled a starvation victim, like the ones in the poorest quarters of the capital after a failed crop.

"This godly, cowardly…" she started fiercely.

"Please, Daena," Viserys said wearily. "It's our King that you're talking about."

"It's my fool of a brother!" Daena burst out and started kicking chairs and pillows. "He didn't think twice before shaming me…"

Viserys sighed and let her rage without trying to stop her anymore – it would be of no use. But after a while, Daena suddenly paused and looked at him. "Do you know what is most terrible of all?" she asked. She was whispering, as if she were terrified to say or hear the words.

"What is it, Daena?"

"He isn't doing this to preserve our innocence. He's doing it to keep his own intact. He can't control himself around us, so he's sending _us_ to prison."

Viserys drew back, staring at her in horror. "Daena, no. You're wrong. He might be misguided but he's doing it because he think it's in your best interests. He certainly don't want to punish you for…"

"Doesn't he?" Daena asked bitterly. "Didn't he punish me willingly when he accepted to wed me to please Daeron and then I ended up alone in an empty bed? What makes you think he won't do it again? He's very adept at hiding behind his obedience, his humility, his piety and let he others shoulder the burden for his cowardice. It's us now – Rhaena! I! Even little Elaena!"

"No! He can't mean to send a child to a life so lonely?"

They were both whispering now, fearing by the words they were speaking, as if the very act of uttering them would somehow conjure them into reality.

Daena laughed angrily. "Of course he does!" She stood straight. "But hear me out, Uncle: I shall not go in there! Never! Never! I'd rather die! I'll never let him push me in a cell!"

The power of her despair shook him to the very core. It was a terrible thing to watch her unraveling. They might have had their clashes – in fact they had had more of those than acts of goodwill while Baelor had been in Dorne – but she was his niece. His blood. Aegon's pride and joy. A young woman disappointed in love. A queen toppled from her throne in a manner that bared her humiliation for everyone in the world to watch. He didn't want any trouble to come to her. They have already found her more often than she deserved.

"I'll talk to him, Daena," he promised. "I'll do all that I can to keep the three of you well and free."

The flash of gratitude in her eyes did not soothe him at all. Because she trusted him. Not unlike his own children, she thought he could work miracles. Or at least, miracles with Baelor. And that was a terrible burden. Because he might yet disappoint her. Baelor had started doing whatever he liked.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented and sorry about being so late with the update!

From the White Sword Tower to the very outer walls, the open spaces were littered with people – great lord and ladies, attendants of the Queen Mother, gold cloaks who were off duties, kitchen boys who had left the vast premises of their workspace. Behind the gates, Aegon's Hill was black with men and women who could not possibly see a thing and yet they were here, eager to hear the words of shades of words that would satisfy their morbid curiosity. Would they ever get another chance to see such a spectacle – a queen turning into prisoner of those she was no foe to?

The absence of the members of the Small Council stood out and whole the reasons for this anomaly varied from mouth to mouth, few were those who were aware of the simple truth of the matter: the Hand of the King had gathered them and told them in a few words that they were not to grace this debacle with their presence. "It isn't a mummer show or something," he had said. "If I only hear that any of you had ventured near, I will…" What was he going to do? He hadn't finished. Perhaps he had not known himself. But the Small Council had taken him to his word.

The long building that not too long ago had served as a prison for the young Dornish hostages was now appointed better than ever. Thick furs and soft Myrish carpets covered the floors. Silver-lined mirrors reflected images with the slightest distortion possible. The three princesses' bedchambers were even upholstered with satin. They would eat from golden plates and drink from the even more expensive green glass. The Queen Mother herself had inspected everything inside, from solars to privies. The huge front door, hinges gleaming with oil, was opened invitingly but behind, the darkness of the first corridor awaited and at the sight of this darkness, Daena Targaryen stopped, recoiled, looked despairingly around. Seeing her sister's horror and the blackness gaping against her, little Elaena screamed. The tight circle of septas around them stopped, the women clearly unsure what to do.

High above the courtyard, in the solar of the Hand of the King, Daenaera also screamed and swayed. Someone outside heard. Eyes rose to find her behind the window and then more eyes followed. She paid them no mind.

Viserys steadied her with an arm on the small of her back but when he tried to lead her away from the window, the widowed queen shook her head wildly.

Rhaena made a step towards them. "Come with me, Daenaera," she said. "There's no use for you to watch."

She reached out but Daenaera clung to the sill so fiercely that her nails broke and the nail beds bled. She didn't seem to notice. She was muttering something to herself, looking so much like Aegon during the worst of his nightmares that Viserys looked away, unable to bear it. Rhaena and Baela met his eye with fear equal to his.

In the courtyard, a bolder septa said something to Daena and even pushed Elaena forward.

"I'll have her hand for this!" Daenaera swore when her daughter reeled forward, almost falling flat on her face. The pressure had been a slight one but the girl was not used to any, not after she had learned how to walk.

Daena spun around and lunged at the septa but Aemon cut the circle of dark-robed women and stood in her way. He started talking to her and she shook her head furiously. He made a step back and Viserys knew that she had just claimed that she'd need to be carried inside the vault by force since she would not walk in there on her own two feet. His heart started pounding even faster. Would Aemon dare?

Someone roared a command and the septas withdrew on both sides of the girl to let a group of golden cloaks pass. In the bright light of late afternoon, their cloaks did indeed burn like molten gold.

The man leading them said something to Daena and when she shook her head, he hesitated but finally reached out.

She jumped back so fast that she tripped into her own white skirt. Her hand went to her heart and stayed there for a while. And then, she turned back and stepped into the darkness on her own. Rhaena followed. Elaena tried to run, possessed by the fear of an animal seeing the trap spring over them but Aemon stood in her way. He started talking to her and she pressed her hands against her ears, blocking him out. But at the end, she, too, turned and entered her prison.

The great door slowly closed and Daenaera wept.

"Come on," Viserys said after a while, feeling that life had gone out of him. Till the very last moment, he had not truly believed that Baelor would do it. "Let me pour you some Arbor gold."

"Too sweet," Daenaera said from the settee, wiping her tears off. "Some Dornish red will serve me better, I think. Some very hefty Dornish red."

"The same for me, Viserys, if you please," Baela said.

"And for me," Rhaena finished.

So he went to the table, poured three goblets of the stuff, filled a fourth one, drank it in three large sips and then refilled it but this time, it was impossible to swallow. When he handed Daenaera hers, she smiled at him or at least tried to. Then she drank once, a second time and closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out.

"What?" Baela asked, startled. "Was this wine, Viserys? Are you sure? By the Seven, she went to sleep right away!"

"She's too thin," Rhaena said. "She hasn't eaten or slept much since she was made aware of Baelor's decision. She'll be fine. Come on, let's wash her face."

"No one should see her like this," Viserys warned and Baela gave him a look that made it clear that he didn't need to say it. Rhaena went for a wet cloth and when they started dabbing it against the Queen's pale face, Viserys was terrified by the grayness and the red veins revealing underneath. _She must have not slept in weeks_ , he thought. Even now, her eyelids were fluttering. The low sound coming from her throat was something between a sob and the wheezing of a dying person. He remembered her young and vibrant – when she had been carrying her first child, when Aegon had had one of his good days – and wondered what his brother would have said if he could have seen his adored queen now. _He would have probably found a way to shoulder the blame for this as well._ Aegon had never fully accepted that sometimes, people were just playthings in the hands of the Seven. _Promise me,_ Aegon had said. Promise me that you'll keep them safe. _Why had his eyes been so madly desperate?_

"I'm going to the Council," he said, suddenly feeling that it was urgent to have them under control again. No matter what Baelor did, no matter what Aegon might have been fearing, there was a realm to rule and Viserys wouldn't let that spin out of control.

The table was set for two. That was the first thing he noticed when he entered the house at Rhaenys' Hill. Laid out for two, with a bowl of fresh fruit at a side table. And there was no one in the dining room. He hesitated, not sure what to do, and when he headed for the solar, it was more like a habit, a reflex, rather than a conscious decision. To his surprise, he found Amara there, reading under the light of a single lamp she had placed close to her sofa. Her feet were folded under her in a posture that looked incredibly uncomfortable for him but for some reason was her preferred one. Her hair was loose and Viserys realized it was hanging too close over the flame. Quickly, he crossed the solar and moved her head sharply back. "You'll catch fire!" he said angrily. "Why are you so careless! Are you stupid, or what?"

It was not her turn to look startled when she touched her hair and realized how hot it was. Her breath caught but she wasn't going to let him keep ranting. "I would have thanked you for saving my life if you weren't so busy insulting me," she said coolly. Only now did he realize how rude he had been.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Please forgive me."

It was never easy to say those words. Perhaps because he had been forced to say them too often as a child hostage dependent on other's mercy. But somehow, with Amara they just came out.

"You scared me," he said, more softly now. "Do you read like this often?"

Now, she looked pale as well. "I – I never paid attention."

He took her hand and was relieved when she did not try to pull it out. "I'll try," she said.

"Don't try. Do it."

She nodded and looked at the sofa. He sat next to her.

"Are you expecting someone?" he asked after a while. "The table is laid out for two."

He didn't truly expect to hear that she had invited a male guest but a friend perhaps? Another lady of not too great a standing?

For a moment, Amara looked down. "Not really," she said. "I was hoping that you'd come."

That surprised him. One of the things that most captivated him about her was that she never whined, "When are you going to come next time?" and never pretended to live her life expecting him. She didn't order the bed made for two, nor did she plan her meals for two unless she knew for sure he'd be there. Until now. She never tried to come close to him by turning him into the centre of her world, like those before her had. But she had hoped to see him now – and for some reason that pleased him. Well, he knew the reason. His growing caring about her was being reciprocated and that filled him with contentment.

"Were you there?" he asked. "I didn't see you."

Amara shook her head. "I don't like goggling at other people's misfortune," she said and paused. "Was it very terrible?"

"It was." He sighed and she covered his hand with her free one. "They didn't want to go. Their mother was…" He shivered.

She didn't say that she understood. She simply sat there and held his hand. After a while, she reached over and he pressed his face in her palms. "It isn't your fault," she murmured.

"It is," he said. "It must be. I can make him do so many things – why not this one?"

"I don't know…"

They sat there for a long time in comfortable silence, Amara's book long forgotten. Behind the closed door, they could hear the opening and closing of doors and the murmur of servants. When had he last felt like this? Perhaps when he had been sitting with Rhaena in the long winter. At Oldtown. When she and Garmund had finally found a shared way. Or at Dragonstone? When, unknowingly to them, his grandfather had been dying and they had expected the arrival of a new life and so many had been alive. He didn't have this many memories of his mother but he could not relate her to the petty, volatile, sexually loose woman she had been portrayed as – had been, maybe. He had known her only in the safe harbour of her later life.

"Come on," Amara finally said. "I want to feed you. A hungry man isn't a good man and you do yield too much power for me to feel calm."

Reluctantly, he smiled. "Are you afraid I'll order a raid over the building of the Iron Bank?" he asked.

She looked at him with arched eyebrows. "Won't you?"

They supped together without mentioning the horror of the day. Instead, she talked about the last books that had arrived for her, books about strange lands and even stranger superstitions. He even became interested. "Eldric Shadowchaser?" he asked. "What names did those people have?"

"Coming from someone descended from Aegon the Dragon, that's a bit rich," she reminded him. "And I seem to recall that your son is named the Dragonknight but I might be wrong."

He laughed, her playful jabs at his pride of his heritage amusing him as always. _I must take care to stock her with blood oranges_ , he made a note to himself. She loved this fruit grown under the Dornish sun and because she most likely wouldn't ask him to replenish her dwindling supply from the basements of the Red Keep, he wanted to do it.

"I can't let you deprive your guests of desserts, after all," he said aloud and she smiled somewhat wistfully.

"I don't have many visitors these days," she replied and it was like a pang in his heart, coldness in his veins. He had made another woman lead a lonely and isolated life because, while his love let Amara feel the flatteries of many, it forever closed her the doors of her own circles, her former friends. _It was her decision,_ he told himself but it didn't help much.

"Will you stay?" Amara suddenly asked when they were in her bedchamber already and she was taking her hair out of the neck of her nightgown.

He did not understand. "I am here, am I not?"

"No," she said. "I meant tomorrow. The next few days. Stay here. Stay with me. I do think you need that respite."

She had never uttered such an invitation before and certainly not on such grounds. Viserys was suddenly enraged. "I don't need sympathy and coddling," he snapped. "I am not a child."

_By your Seven, be a man! Leave it all behind where it belongs!_ He shook his head to chase away the voice of another, long-forgotten woman. Deep inside, he could see the grim irony of enforcing Larra's standards on Amara who was a different woman, a different temper, a different love but he could not stop himself. He had lived by them far too long. He could accept her compassion and care but not if she offered them in words so open. He didn't know why it was so but it was.

In the silver mirror she was holding in front of her face, her eyes were wide and pained. _It's just a distortion of the reflection,_ Viserys thought. _I should buy her a glass mirror._ But he knew it wasn't because of the mirror and shame and regret clutched him straight at the throat.

"I'm glad to hear it," Amara finally said. "It's been fifteen years since I had a small child. I am not fond of having another one, as big as they might be."

"I'm sorry," he said. "My nerves are on edge today."

"I can see." Her voice was definitely cold now. "What can I do to soothe them if you don't want any sympathy? Would a pliant body do?"

He flinched, as if she had physically slapped him. For a long time, they lay next to each other without touching. Finally, she sighed and took his hand. "Don't do it again," she said. "If you don't want to stay, you can just say so. But don't throw my care back in my face. I won't have it."

"I do want to stay," he said. "I didn't mean…" He brought her hand to his lips and then he started making love to her… and everything went wrong, for the first time since those awful days when the paid girl in Lys had been brought to teach him how he was supposed to perform in the night of his marriage to Larra. All of a sudden, he was back there, shivering and mortified.

Amara hugged him tightly. "Go to sleep," she said. Some distant corner of his mind told him that he should have expected such a thing. He had had the most terrible day in quite a while; he had had too much to drink; he had quarreled with Amara and hurt her and it worried him that he had.

"Go to sleep," she murmured again, holding him tight. "No one can be perfect all the time. All is well. Close your eyes."

He hugged her back and fell into uneasy slumber where Aegon's voice _, "Promise me. Promise me to keep them safe"_ mixed with the laughter of the Lysene whores and Larra's angry impatience – _"Don't be such a child!"_ – and Daena's wide accusing eyes – _"Make him stop it, I know you can!"_ Daenaera screamed as the door closed behind her daughters, dooming them at a lifetime in prison… A few times this night, he woke up, shocked by the wetness on his cheeks. He hadn't cried since his will had burned his eyes dry there, on that slave galley cutting the waves that now covered Jacaerys' grave. Once or twice, his movements startled Amara awake as well and she drew him close, kissing the tears away, and as broken and humiliated as he felt, he needed this shield against all those ghosts.

"I _promised_ ," he told her when the dawn made its first covert attempts to bring them back to the outside world. "I promised that I'd keep his children safe."

"But did you promise that you'd keep them safe from one another?" she asked softly, pressing a wet cloth against the hardened skin of his face. "Or did he omit to let you know about this little detail?"

His first impulse was to ask what she meant. He would not have her criticize Aegon in any way. But the memory of last night made him keep his silence which was a precedent in itself, him keeping silent when he didn't need to. She would do it. She would turn her back on him because she didn't want what the other women had desired. She could live without the things he provided her with just as well. And Viserys didn't think he'd want to live without her. Not after he already knew what it felt like to be with her. It shamed him to be so dependent on his mistress when it ought to be the other way but it was a fact. He had been alone for so very long. Amara handed him a goblet of water and the wetness went down his sore throat. He had never tasted anything sweeter. Behind the thick curtains, dawn sprinkled pink radiance all over the world but he only felt fear.

"Can I stay?" he asked, aware of the irony, powerless to do anything to stop it. The tension of the last week had finally weighed him down, making him too tired physically to rise and change, walk all the way to the stables, go down Rhaenys' Hill, all the way to Aegon's Hill and then up to the Red Keep to meet the Small Council, Baelor and all the tongues wagging over the last events. The idea of staying here with her, her books and blood oranges, and her need to be saved from her own lamp was overwhelming.

She looked at him, left the goblet down and lay back to let him embrace her. "You can," she said and smiled – and this smile filled the hollowness in his life. For now. _I want you to need me_ , Larra had screamed after one of their frights over Naerys' life. It was only now that he realized what she might have meant… and still he felt that despite that renewal of the closeness, his relationship with Amara was in a great trouble. She had changed her life for him. He couldn't change his for her, not on the same scale. But he had to try and change himself, his need to always be strong, his visceral rejection of her empathy because he might drive her away as well. And he didn't think he could live with himself, with the man he'd turn into if he lost the tiny flame that had appeared so late and in such a dark time of his life to warm his frozen heart.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for each and every comment! I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and wish you a happy New Year!

"I should have known she couldn't be trusted to keep them healthy enough to stay alive," Aegon spat as the Grand Maester made his hasty retreat under the pretext that he was needed at Naerys' bedside. Already, in the small adjacent chambers the preparations had started, silent sisters going in with white linens to wash the small bodies that had fought for each breath and lost.

Aemon's reaction was predictable – he made a step at his brother without thinking twice, his fists clenched in the air already. But Viserys preempted him. _He_ didn't think twice either. His hand just cut the air with a visible hiss and landed on Aegon's cheek so hard that blood started trickling from the young man's lip, down his chin. "Out," Viserys snapped. "Out, or you'll regret it. Do not make me treat you the way you deserve, do you hear me! You deserve me to crush you like a filthy worm because that's what you are…"

Both Aegon and Aemon stared at their father, amazed. His hand cut the air again on its own volition; shaking with fury, Aegon left before the situation could get any worse. And no one, no one, even Baelor with his disdain of fist justice, did not say a thing.

"He has to leave," Rhaena said slowly. "He'd better not be here as Naerys recovers."

She hadn't said " _if_ Naerys recovers" and Viserys looked at her with the utmost gratitude. This long waiting for the babes to emerge had all but bushed him beyond the limits of his endurance, memories he had never known he possessed taking a mighty hold of him and the faces of those who had been lost three decades ago replacing those of the people waiting with him now as the screams from behind the door were not his daughter's, not always, but Rhaenyra's – and sometimes even Larra's.

"He won't be," Baelor promised and it was with utmost relief that Viserys watched his son's speedy leaving for Braavos.

"I hope he doesn't make a mull out of it," he said grimly as the party left the Red Keep. "If he gets bored or something."

"You gave him the very best among the best men, Father," Aemon reminded him. "They won't let him fail too badly."

"That's right," Viserys agreed and looked at Aemon, struck once again how deeply his son's capacity of wanting to be good to others went. Even to the father who didn't know how to be one, had never known any proper way to show his care. I didn't fail this badly with them, after all, he thought. Aegon might be what I made him but so is Aemon. Or perhaps they're just who they are. Different people. "Someone is coming to relieve you soon, right? Go and have some rest."

"I will," Aemon replied. It went without saying that his rest would be spent in Naerys' chamber, near the bed that she was still too weak to leave.

Meanwhile, from the other side of the castle's wall, the smallfolk roared, shouted, clanked their protest. Viserys shook his head and headed for the chamber of the Small Council, hoping that last night had not witnessed an arrest of a highborn in the now outlawed but springing every day brothels. Such a thing could just prove the sparkle that might add the lords' dislike of the new laws to the smallfolk's grievances over the same matter and the two of them together could threaten the peace in the realm almost as badly as King Viserys' death had.

"It's too early for such a bold step," he tried to argue with his nephew for a hundredth time, choosing his words with great care and no effect. "I understand your concern about your leal subjects' souls, Your Grace, but let's not put their very existence in danger over such a small matter. Let's proceed with caution…"

The other members of the council were nodding vigorously but of course, Baelor could not be reasoned with. Had Aegon known? Had this been one of the reason for his insistence? For Viserys to save his children from one another as Amara thought – or themselves as he had failed with Daeron and seemed to be failing now? Till the end of the meeting, he spoke little, terrified by his urge to grab Baelor and shake some damned sense into this septon head of his! It was this day that he realized that he needed a break.

"I'm going to Dragonstone," he announced the same night as Amara added a bolt of colour to a tunic he wore when he was here. With time, the amount of items from his clothing in her wardrobes had grown quite big. He watched her nimble fingers, the flash of her needle and the stream of colours slashing through the dark garment and admired her talent to create beauty. He couldn't wait for the new Myrish silks and threads he had ordered for her to arrive. "I need a break."

She looked up, the amazement in her eyes evident. "You're going to take a break?" she exclaimed. "You? For how long have I known you?"

He didn't answer – he couldn't. As usual, he felt a twinge of a bitter loss. He had never seen her in all those years and he could have spared himself years of darkness if he had. Perhaps he could have spared her those as well.

"Twenty two," Amara answered her own question. "And I've never seen you take a break. Never. You've always been a man of determined duty."

_And this alone?_ he wondered.

"For how long will I have to wait for you?" she asked and he smiled.

"No time at all," he said. "Will you come with me, my lady? I'd love that."

He had no trouble asking the question but now his breath caught as he realized that she might just refuse. Giving her so much power in his life meant giving her the will to refuse if she so chose. But Amara rose, leaving her needle in her sewing basket and came close to the settee where he lay, watching her. "Yes," she said. "I want to come. I will come."

* * *

He expected that Amara wouldn't like the grim island but she did. Even the black walls seemed to fascinate her. "It's quite dark indeed," she said, "and not exactly joy inducing. But there is so much art about it. So much devotion."

He nodded. Devotion was something that he associated with Dragonstone, although not the way she meant. "I was happy here," he said slowly. "Truly."

Perhaps he could be once again. For a while. With her.

She gave his hand a squeeze.

Had Larra still been alive and with him, he would have been discreet but now, there was no need. He didn't feel a twinge of remorse or shame as he put Amara into his own chamber, the silver-haired ghost that he had only come here a few times with so faded from his mind that it didn't even seem odd to him to wake up and see dark hair spilling on the pillow next to him… and that was all he did the first two days of their stay – he slept or when he didn't, he stayed abed, shedding al the burdens of ruling a realm for five years without Aegon's input. Amara read her books, dealt with her needlework, or snuggled up to him under the thick covers that kept them safe from the cold brought by the howling winds.

"You can go out and see the castle and the island," Viserys offered, knowing that she wanted to.

She smiled. "I want to see them together with you," she replied and while scared to be given so much responsibility about the happiness and wellbeing of another person, Viserys exulted in it.

At night, nothing happened but it no longer disturbed him, never shamed him as it had that night, the time of the first failure. He had tried once or twice after in the next days, only to fail again, and then Naerys' pains had started and it had become the last thing in his mind. Now, he was pleased just to take Amara in his arms and feel her breath.

And then, in the third day, he woke up at dawn to find out that his usual energy, unrest, and strength were coursing through him. He pressed his face against Amara's hair, enjoying the touch of the soft tresses, willing her to stir and unwilling to disturb her in any way. She snuggled closer but her eyes stayed close until a little later. Like him, she was used to rise early in the morning.

"Come on," he said. "Let's break our fast. I believe you wanted to see the island? We'll start with the castle first."

A wide smile beamed on her face. She rubbed her nose against his chest and pushed the cover aside shaking with the sudden cold. "I can't wait," she said.

Before the sun was fully up in the sky, he had already shown her the Windwyrm and the Chamber of the Painted Table. For a long time, she stayed near the table examining the ridges and valleys of the Vale of Arryn and then the channels of her own Oldtown. "I can't believe Westeros looks like this!"s she exclaimed, as enthused as a child, and Viserys laughed.

"It does," he assured her, suddenly remembering his own father's voice, long swallowed by the depths of oblivion. It was strange how he could suddenly remember those small moments in this same chamber and Daemon Targaryen's patience, mirth, and a touch of pride at his own childish yet precocious questions. It was also stupid. Amara was not a child.

In the fishing village, men and women dropped their draught to make a hurried bow. It was the awe writ on their faces that made Viserys realize just how long it had been since a prince had last inhibited Dragonstone. Joy and adoration were something that he was used to from his very cradle but the disbelief that such heavenly figures were actually passing so close by was something new to him – as a child he had come this road quite often with his parents or brothers and later, he had not had the time to spare when here. As a result, that might be the first time in decades that the smallfolk at Dragonstone was seeing a Targaryen in person from this close.

"Is she his princess?" an old woman asked curiously and Viserys saw how shame turned Amara's cheeks crimson. Anger rose in him but she stopped him with a quick shake of her head before he could order their guards to take care of too long tongues; later, he was glad that she had. Her smile did not falter as she gave out her alms amidst a murmur of appreciation.

"Come on," Viserys said as they dined in the intimacy of his chambers – their chambers, for now. "I'll show you the volcano next."

She gave him a look of uncertainty. "It's a good thing I am not your princess, I suppose," she said and then, at his arched eyebrow, "Because you don't need to resort to any extreme measures to get rid of me. You can just order me away, right?"

Her audacity amused him and he told her so. "I've been called many things but Maegor the Cruel was not one of them," he informed her. "So, will you dare come with me?"

Amara accepted the challenge and was quick to realize why he had insisted on a man's clothing and especially comfortable footwear with thick soles: about a mile before the mountain started rising, the land turned so rocky and dry that they had to dismount and leave their horses to graze as they walked. Amara gave the animals an anxious look. "Are you sure they'll be waiting for us when we go back?" she asked.

"No," Viserys replied nonchalantly. "But you're equipped to handle the walking back to the castle. And if not, I'll carry you."

They walked up the slide of the mountain, dark and devoid of trees, flowers, life save for the tiny needles of fire that showed through tiny fissures in the black earth. Amara looked mesmerized. "It's so beautiful," she murmured. "So majestic."

She hadn't called it lovely or nice. But she understood. That was one of the things that had drawn Viserys to her – her ability to find worth even in the harsh, cold, merciless. He brought her to the edge lining a sea of molten fire in a side crater and she gasped. "It lives!" she exclaimed but there was no fear in her voice or face at the flames roaring so very near. Only joy.

He nodded, holding her tight by the hand, should she slip. The fumes coming upward from the red river could make one's head light. "People have always feared fire," he said, "and yet they seek it every day. What would be there without it? It means burned homes and dead men and women but in the winter, fire means cooked food and wild beasts away from one's house. It means warm blood in one's veins. In winter, fire is life itself. And it's beautiful. That's what I wanted to show you. What?"he asked when he caught her look, filled with surprise and wonder.

"It's nothing. It's just that… I've never seen you this carefree and passionate about things before. You were always a mighty presence but not very… lively."

He smiled. "Yes," he said. "That's what I am like or at least, what I used to be like. I suppose I'll be myself by the time we get back to King's Landing. But tomorrow, I'll show you the place where the best seashells can be found."

"I can't wait," she said, smiling up at him with the smile that filled this small place of nothingness in his soul and made him whole again.

When they climbed down the mountain, they found their horses waiting for them and returned to the castle without any hurry, stopping for Amara to inspect everything that drew her eye. Viserys enjoyed the sensation of not going anywhere, having all the time in the world right now. And as night slowly wrapped them in a veil of darkness and the thick covers closed them off in a cocoon away from the world, he pushed her nightgown up and made love to her with tenderness that he had never known before. "You make a man out of me, you know," he said after a while as she lay with her head on his arm. "You are the making of me."

They both knew he didn't mean the bed alone.

Their escape from the world lasted a week more before at their return from one of their trips, the pale castellan rushed to them with the news that Princess Naerys and her son had just arrived. Viserys ground his teeth. "I guess I should have made it clear that I was not coming here alone," he said angrily and Amara sighed. As direct and straightforward as he was, he wasn't a stranger to all norms and expectations. He'd never force his daughter to socialize with his mistress.

"It's fine," she said, although it wasn't.

From this day on, her explorations of the castle were put to an end. She limited her movements to Viserys' chambers and her outings with him, as well as the library, relieved that the Princess was clearly as eager to avoid her as she was to avoid the Princess. It made her a little sad because they had gotten along nicely when Naerys had visited her aunts but the truth was that their circumstances had changed. In the library, she sometimes encountered young Daeron who was unfailingly polite and friendly and wondered what the child knew.

She wished she could leave but the sudden coming of storms had left them all stranded at the island. Day after day she saw the tiny silhouettes of ships cutting the waves far against the horizon and prayed that they reached their destination soon and safe. And she stayed on her knees next to Princess Naerys in the sept all the time as in the middle of a storm roaring so horribly that she could not hear what the servants told her from the distance of all but five steps a ship was fighting its way to the shores of Dragonstone; when the castellan rushed to tell them that they had made it to the shoals and were now negotiating the last few feet from the salvation, the two women looked at each other with shared relief that had swept away all awkwardness.

"It looks like the Seven had chosen to throw us together," was Viserys' comment as they emerged from the sept to make what they could for the people who were now coming ashore. "Do you know who this vessel was carrying?"

Amara didn't but the Princess' gasp as she stared at the sun and spear on the sail that the winds spun around madly told her that Naerys had realized the truth before she had.

"It seems that we'll have to offer our hospitality to the Princess of Dorne and her daughter," Viserys went on, his lack of enthusiasm obvious as the woman and child in question came into view, dripping wet.

_Looks like_ _Dragonstone will have the honour of seeing its future queen well before the rest of Westeros,_ Amara thought but she knew better than say it in front of Viserys. He still clung to the delusion that one day, the King's mind would return and he'd take his Queen back or at least take a new one.

"Must we?" Daeron asked plaintively and Amara looked at him, wondering what a child of eight might be feeling knowing that soon, he'd be meeting his future after thousands of years of enmity.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented! Thank you, Baelorfan, for never missing a chapter!

Any hope that Mariah Martell would turn out to have taken after her Lysene mother was proven false the moment Viserys spotted her from afar. The girl was the very embodiment of what Daeron had called salty Dornishmen and the years in Essos had only made her olive skin darker. At least she had lovely black hair – a shocking amount of it. As she came near, a more pressing concern came to him. She was so tiny, almost as Naerys had been at her age, or so he thought. _Has the Prince of Dorne given us a girl of Naerys' health?_ It was quite possible – with Mariah having spent all the war in Lys, no one could say anything about her constitution or rather, her father could say whatever he wanted. With a single, brilliant stroke the Martell prince might have scored a double win – taking the burden of an unhealthy ruling Princess off Dorne and pushing it onto the Iron Throne instead. At the time of signing the treaty, he had had no true reason to think that one day, his grandchildren may sit it, so he might not have cared if he would have them… By the Seven, were they cursed to another lifetime of waiting to see if this time, the child would live? _At least we won't be this concerned about the mother_ , Viserys thought cynically and immediately felt ashamed of himself. It was a child that he was thinking about. Mariah Martell was just Daeron's age. And younger than Viserys at the time of his marriage. _Am I different at all from my sweet in-laws_ , he wondered, sickened.

When the Princess of Dorne and his daughter came close, he breathed a sigh of relief – and thought that he had heard Naerys do the same. Mariah wasn't sickly at all. Her skin was glowing with health, even after having just barely escaped the rage of the sea. Her movements were this of someone bursting with energy, as much as her mother tried to make her stand still _. She must have gathered it all those days confined in a ship_ , Viserys thought. _Glory to the Seven, the child is just small._ At this age, it was too soon to tell what her figure would look like when she matured, so he took no interest in her proportions. In the brief time for the most basic pleasantries to be exchanged, her sodding cloak and hair poured a waterfall around her.

"I have some rooms being warmed for you," Naerys said, not adding that they had started the preparations just in case, not really believing that anyone would make it to the shore, and Siella nodded gratefully. "I'll show you and your daughter to yours at once," she added.

"Thank you," Siella said. "I'd rather make sure that my people are all accommodated before I go to change. But you can take Mariah. She does need a change of clothes."

"And a bath," Naerys offered.

"A bath would be nice," Siella agreed but the child shared this wish not at all. She actually made a step back and Viserys grimly wondered what she had been told about the Seven Kingdoms and the Targaryens. He had some idea what Daeron had been told – as much as they tried to repair it now, the damage had already been done. A woman in the back of Siella's entourage gave Mariah an encouraging look.

"Go with the Princess," Siella urged.

"I'll come with you," the woman offered.

"You won't," Siella said brusquely. "I appreciate your care, Septa Rimma, but Mariah will be fine with Princess Naerys and then me as you take care of yourself."

Very reluctantly, Mariah left her septa's side and fell in step with Naerys. Viserys nodded at Aemon to follow them which was clearly a welcome relief for both his son and the Princess of Dorne. Surprised, he saw how Siella even smiled and then realized that the smile had nothing to do with Aemon but the fact that at the door, Naerys reached for Mariah's hand and the girl placed her own inside without her posture getting more rigid. "I thought we were going to drown," she said. There was no fear in her voice but rather, excitement.

"Do you know that you would have _stayed_ dead?" In Daeron's voice, there was no excitement. Instead, he sounded doubtful as to his Dornish betrothed's mental capacity.

Viserys couldn't hear the girl's answer because the door closed but he saw Siella's smile. "Is he always this serious?" she asked before remembering who she was talking to. Her expression grew cautious and Viserys wondered if she feared that they wouldn't be allowed to just go when the storms quieted down.

"Almost," he replied.

A woman hurried over with a thick cloak and Siella accepted it without looking if it bore the three-headed dragon sigil. Viserys approved. Proud but not to foolishness. Personally, he preferred such people to deal with because, although foolish negotiators were preferable in the short term, at one point they left the area of his influence and became susceptible to others'.

"Do take a seat as you wait," he invited and poured her some boiled wine as her men and women were led away and she waited to make sure that everyone from the abandoned ship who had reached the shore would come to her, so she'd know where to look for them. "What are you doing here, my lady? It's far from Dorne here."

"I am coming from Lys," she replied and her voice caught. "My mother has been ailing for a while and she asked to see both me and Mariah before she…" She paused. "She became very fond of Mariah during the time my daughter spent there."

Four years. Viserys wondered if the girl had felt like going back home when the Dornish had finally taken their own cities back. Had she remembered her family at all? _She must come to us as soon as possible,_ he thought. _She must forget them once again if she is to become queen one day._ Then, he drove this treacherous thought away. Mariah Martell would never be queen. Baelor would come to his senses and take Daena back.

That night, Viserys took longer to get to bed. The arrival of the Dornish party had caused some unrest, although no overt hostility, and the curiosity little Mariah attracted was an unwelcome reminder that the people of Westeros did not share his belief in Baelor ever taking a bride. One day, Mariah Martell would be their queen – that was what they thought.

"What do they say about Princess Mariah in the castle?" he asked because Amara seemed to always keep abreast with everything that was going on around her, even if she did not show it.

She shrugged. "This adventure doesn't seem to have shaken her one bit. She must be a very robust child indeed. But they have little else to say about her." She paused. "They say she wanted her septa to stay with her until she went to sleep but her mother didn't allow it."

He gave her a look of surprise. What did it matter? Why had she mentioned it at all? Now he realized that while she had taken her embroidery a long time ago, she had barely made a stitch or three before leaving it in her lap, the needle sticking out instead of being carefully placed in her sewing basket as she always did when she stopped working even for a short time.

"Likely, the septa was with her throughout the war while her mother wasn't," he said. "And the Princess doesn't like the preference Mariah shows the woman. Why does it bother you?"

"Because I was in her place once," Amara whispered. "I was her."

Ah! Of course. All these years of their knowledge, all the times he had seen her with a child in her arms or next to her – it had never been hers. Amara had been forced to support her children and the little property that her husband had left her by taking a position in Rhaena's household and sometimes helping to take care of her children. She had not been with her own, just visiting them a few times a year if this much. He had never known how much it must have pained her.

"I'm sorry," Amara said. "Those are women's cares. Yours are greater. Sometimes, I'm just being stupid."

"I have no cares right now," he said. "How can I make it better?"

She looked at him. A faint smile lit her tired eyes. "Hold me," she said and he did, overwhelmed as always by the amount of trust and affection that she placed in his hands so easily. He had much to learn about accepting this gift as freely as it was given but right now, with her warm and tired in his arms, it didn't seem the impossible goal it would have just a year ago.

* * *

Viserys never heard what Mariah's reply to Daeron's question this first day was but as the storms kept raging, allowing only for a short reprieve of a day or two, the two children could be seen together increasingly often – in the library, in the courtyard, at the castle walls. One day, the maester of Dragonstone even demanded to talk to Viserys and told him, very tactfully but no doubt indignantly, that the young Prince had insisted to include the Dornish girl in their lessons, to which he hadn't minded at all, and that Princess Mariah had started doubting the justice of the inheritance system in the Seven Kingdoms – which he minded very much indeed! And instead of directing her back to the lesson in question, Prince Daeron expected of him to _prove_ the rightfulness of the current custom, giving his opinion weight about equal to this of a girl of nine. "He actually suggested that we have a discussion," the man finished, giving Viserys a look of expectation.

The Hand of the King drew a hand across his forehead. Was he supposed to deal with this as well? He had come here to have a rest. Instead, he had found himself burdened with a bunch of former enemies and supposed current allies and although this far, no serious clash had originated, the opportunity was never far from becoming real. He had more than enough work to do. Was he supposed to spare time for the classroom as well? "Go to my daughter," he said, throwing Naerys to the lions without giving it a second thought.

The man frowned. "I already spoke to Her Grace," he said darkly. "She laughed. And Prince Aemon said that if I couldn't prevail under a girl of nine, I had to reconsider my teaching methods."

Viserys wanted to laugh as well but he managed not to. And a day later, laughing was the farthest thing from his mind. It turned out that the two children had taken the matter more seriously than the maester and Mariah's septa had expected. They brought it to the evening feast and Viserys was glad that the high table could only accommodate a limited number of people because everyone was listening – and pretending not to.

"It isn't this bad," Daeron was saying. "Here, women are taken care after."

"Are they?" Mariah asked.

He nodded vigorously. "It's a matter of honour for every man who inherits to arrange a good marriage for the daughters or sisters of his predecessor. Often, they end up as the ladies of seats just as powerful as the ones they were born in."

_Not always_ , Viserys thought. Amara was one such – or rather, wasn't. If she had inherited her father's title, she wouldn't have had to work to support herself and her children after her husband's demise. Her father had been a minor, albeit well-off lord but she had been wed to a mere knight.

"But not always," Mariah insisted. "And they aren't ladies of the seats, are they? Not like lords are lords."

Was she about to start gesturing with her venison like a lord might have? She was clearly agitated enough. But the manners of a lady won out and she stilled her hands.

Viserys really wished that his grandson would let the matter rest but unfortunately, Daeron seemed to be as keen to persuade Mariah as she was to persuade him. "They are," he said. "They rule the castles in their husbands' absence. And when we wed one day," he went on, inspired all of a sudden, "you will be more influential than everyone else in our household. I will seek out your advice before everyone else's. You'll only be second to me."

Now, a tablefull of people was following the exchange. Viserys was relieved when he saw that the girl was clearly pleased. She smiled at Daeron and her black eyes, so unlike her mother's Valyrian ones, shone. But then, another thought came to her and the glow disappeared. "I was supposed to be second to no one," she said. "I should have been _the_ _Princess_."

_Is this how my mother felt_ , Viserys wondered and a sudden wish pierced him through the bone – that the dispute between his mother and her brother had been settled as easily as Daeron and Mariah's discord when, a few minutes later, they started chattering about some seashells that she insisted must be found in vast quantity at the seashore now, after the storms, and he said that no such thing existed – or at least he had no idea of it.

"Come with me tomorrow morn, I will show you!" Mariah said eagerly, leaving Viserys to dream of seashells and memories long gone, when Luke had gathered seashells for Rhaena after a storm – because it was Mariah who had the right of it, he remembered it now.

* * *

Two weeks later, when the storms had been gone for a while, they left and Viserys was a little surprised that he wasn't as relieved as he might have thought. His conversations with Princess Siella about how to best implement the peace they both didn't quite believe in had proven strangely engaging. He wouldn't mind if one day Mariah turned out to be as influential for Daeron as Siella was said to be in her husband's court… if she put her intelligence for the same good use as her mother.

"Are they going to come back?" Daeron asked as they waited for the Dornish entourage to emerge from the building for the last time. "Soon?"

Viserys shook his head. "It isn't likely," he said. "Do you want them to?"

Daemon nodded eagerly. "Yes, very much," he said and blushed, feeling that he had said too much. "She isn't as brown as they said she was," he said after a while.

Viserys who thought that Mariah was even darker brown than described said nothing.

The Dornish men and women exited the castle. Everyone mounted and the group headed for the port. Viserys noticed that Mariah was clutching the doll Naerys had given her last night to her tightly.

"What are you going to name her?" Daeron asked as the boat was coming to take the passengers in.

Mariah clutched the pale doll even more tightly. "Larra," she said. "Larra."

Naerys' smile froze. Daeron gave the girl a look of surprise. Viserys' heart skipped a beat.

"That was her aunt's name," Siella said but she, too, looked stricken. "You see, the doll resembles her…"

Only now did Viserys realize that the doll had been sewn in Naerys' likeness – and Princess Larra's as well, clearly. And only much later was he surprised that the likeness to his own Larra had never come to his mind. For the first time since he had come to Dragonstone, he felt the weight of something lost. He had loved her for so long and suffered from her leaving from even longer that the lack of feelings suddenly felt like a void.

"You can come over and visit me," Mariah told Daeron, then smiled. "You can come and live at Sunspear! Then, you'll be more influential than everyone in Dorne, save for me."

Viserys realized that to her, that was the highest praise she could give Daeron. So simple. So... childish. He smiled.

"What happened to that lady?" he asked Aemon when they were alone in his study. "Larra Martell."

"She took her own life," Aemon answered flatly but immediately, as if he had waited for years to be asked this. "After being raped by many. Aegon was one of them. They say she was with child and couldn't bear the thought of giving life to it. For some reason, moon tea was not an option."

Bile rose to Viserys' throat but he pushed it down. He wasn't surprised. Such things happened in a war and Aegon had never been the one to deny himself his pleasures. Still, to do such a thing to a great lady? His own blood? "Couldn't you tell him off?" he demanded. "Aegon is cowardly, you know this."

For all his bragging, Aegon had never been able to defy those stronger than him. He had given up on his smallfolk girl and his children with her without Viserys having to make the demand twice. More recently, he had given the Vaith girl up without resistance either, despite knowing that Viserys might have sent her to death right there.

Bitterness tugged the corners of Aemon's mouth down in something that wasn't a smile at all. "I could," he agreed. "If Daeron hadn't accepted that she was Aegon's prize. I was there to obey, wasn't I?"

To this, Viserys could say nothing. Criticizing Daeron felt disrespectful to his brother – and also admittance of his own failure to teach the boy better. As to Aegon, the very thought of him brought over fury and helpless wonder why he had been unable to turn him into Aemon's brother in spirit and not just blood.

The blacksmith's wife was no one and the Vaith lady was an enemy, a hostage that even her own House had not valued high enough to not endanger her in the first place. But Larra Martell? Was Aegon truly such a monster to do such a thing to his own cousin, just because she had already suffered?

"How can I make it better?" Amara asked in the dead of night when the castle was quiet and the sea sang a distant, muted song.

He stopped pacing. "Hold me," he said, knowing that he couldn't tell her the entire truth because she'd never see it as he did. To her, the peasant girl would matter just as much as the Dornish lady and they would both matter as much as Princess Larra. _Will you love me still if you knew what truly lies in my heart, my Amara?_ He couldn't lose her and he didn't want to lie to her, so he didn't say anything, letting her caresses drive the demons away and drift him to sleepiness where nothing mattered.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment, it's highly encouraging!

In preparation for the meeting, Viserys leafed through all the reports he had received, as if he hoped to find at least one that was positive. But they could only be graded by dark, darker, and darkest, which unfortunately confirmed his own impressions. In the fleet, things were not going the way they should.

Laughter from the outside drew him to the window. In the garden right before his window, little Baelor was making his way to a flower bed with the intention – Viserys was pretty sure – to eat the lovely red petals closest to him. Anything that could be eaten should be eaten, Mariah claimed was her son's motto in life and sure enough, the moment the petals made their way to the babe's hands, they headed for his mouth. His nursemaid promptly took them and he gave a shriek of the truest misery there could be. Viserys' smile grew. He was pretty sure that if the little one could talk, he'd protest vehemently against being carried off, away from the interesting red things he had put forth so much effort to get to in the first place.

"Where is his mother?" Baelor asked. "Why has she left him alone?"

"He's hardly alone," Viserys asked calmly. "He has two attendants, as far as I can see."

"But his mother isn't there." Baelor scowled. "Is she busy with things that are no woman business again? I'm hearing that she tries to give Daeron _advice_."

"And it's some good advice that she gives him," Viserys said. It was strange to think that he now liked Daeron's Dornish wife more than Baelor did when in the beginning, it had been Baelor who had been Mariah's only ally in the Red Keep. _Blessed be the Seven that Mariah gave us a child immediately,_ Viserys thought, _or he might have sent her back, ending the peace that he fought so hard fo_ r. Daena's son birth had turned Baelor even more against any woman who did not wrap herself in grey rags even more – and Mariah, with her Dornish easy ways, was the first natural object of his suspicions. Now, the King stared at Viserys hard, his eyes even wider in his gaunt face. Viserys reached for the dried fruit at his desk. "Do you want some?" he asked and Baelor shook his head.

"The Seven will see me," he said. This time, he didn't even give the food a hungry look. Viserys wondered just how far his self-imposed starvation would go. The Seven knew that the more wasted his frame went, the more his mad decisions flourished! The new High Septon – the eight year old boy – topped it all! For now…

"Do you think the Seven will strike you dead for the sin of actually putting something in your mouth?" Viserys asked more sharply than intended. Recently, he had found himself increasingly unable to contain his irritation, even when there were people present.

Alyn arrived before Baelor could start preaching on the sin of self-indulgence – a good thing since Viserys was less inclined than ever to tolerate it. A bad thing because he wasn't actually expecting this conversation with anything approximating pleasure. The sight of Alyn, almost as wasted as Baelor and having aged additionally in the month since they had last seen each other made Viserys feel guilty, as if he were going to attack someone who was already down.

Before anything important could be said, Baelor made it to the door and Viserys was glad of it. He had long given up on any attempts to include his nephew in the everyday chores of ruling – Baelor simply had no interest in it and when he showed some, the results were quite ruinous to the royal treasury.

"Won't he start eating already?" Alyn asked when the two of them were left alone. "He looks like someone knocking at the door of the Stranger."

"So do you," Viserys said. "Take a seat if you please."

Alyn did so, visibly tensing. He could feel that it was the Hand of the King that he'd be dealing with and not his old friend but that was hardly the first time he'd do so. His defensiveness showed Viserys that he knew what they'd be talking about.

"I've received some complaints about the way you're dealing with the demands of your office," he finally said.

"Have you?" Alyn asked icily. "What do they consist of if I may know?"

"Lack of attention," Viserys replied without hesitation. "Giving the same orders to different people which leads to clashes and disruptions in executing them. Affirming suggestions that are clearly lacking in merits." He paused. "Unwillingness to hear anyone's stance if it isn't in full compliance with your own – to which I can personally attest."

"That's charming." His goodbrother smiled grimly. "I'm always delighted to hear what people think about me. Do you have any more compliments to make?"

"Stop it immediately!" Viserys said icily. "Do you think it's a display of strength or something? Because I can tell you right now that it's anything but! Since Baela…" He paused and wondered what he thought he was doing. Lecturing anyone on strength when he still couldn't say that Baela had… that she had…

Again, this grim smile. "You can't even say it, can you? And you have the nerve to lecture me about my conduct. At least I am not afraid to show that I have weaknesses. I haven't dedicated my life to make people think I am as dead inside as those dragons of yours…"

But lashing out in defense could not dissuade Viserys. "Alyn, you cannot go on like this. These aren't the only complaints I am hearing. I heard you've scared your mistress to death by beating her because she… wasn't Baela?"

Alyn snorted. "Is this what she says? It was a single whip, if you have to know the truth. I stopped myself pretty much immediately. Anyway, when did you become such a great defender of lowborn women?"

Viserys let this jab slide by. "I've been hearing that you've started drinking too much."

"Who?" Alyn demanded angrily. "Who's saying these things?"

"Alyn, do rein your anger in! I was given this information out of genuine concern about you!"

"As if!"

Silence descended, a long silence in which neither dared to look at the other one. Only when the first shadows started creeping in and on the outside,little Baelor started protesting that he was taken out of the garden for real this time, Viserys looked up. "I do know it's harder for you than it is for any of us," he said. "But if anyone has the strength to keep going, it will be you. You've always emerged stronger than before."

Alyn shook his head. His eyes were wide and helpless, more helpless than we had returned from Dorne after Daeron's death. "If I was strong, that was because she was with me," he said. "Trying to prove yourself to someone does make you strong. And she was someone who was strong enough to make me strive harder. Without her… what's the purpose? I already have everything a man in Westeros could possibly want. What higher can I aim for? What use is there is strength anymore? Out life together had always been… togetherness. Overcoming."

To this, Viserys had no answer, stunned by the realization that for the first time, he had understood Alyn to the core. He had loved her, Viserys had never thought otherwise – but he had never realized how obsessive this love had been, perhaps because of all the other women, women who, in fact, had been the escape, the simplicity from the drive that was his life, the drive that he had always striven for, no matter how exhausting.

"Who is saying these things?" Alyn finally asked. "They are people out of my immediate service, are they?"

Viserys hesitated. "No," he finally said. "There were some who work with you every day…"

Alyn seemed to get smaller. Viserys waited for the demand to name names but didn't hear one. "I-" he started without knowing that he'd follow it with.

Someone threw the door open and both men turned around. A pale boy rushed in and stopped to a halt before them. "Your Grace-" he panted. "The King… the King has collapsed…"

* * *

The first thing Viserys did when he found himself the only person in charge was to release the girls from the so called Court of Beauty – and he was moved by the hunger that Daena and Elaena rushed out with, as if they were afraid that he'd change his mind.

"Do you think it was a wise thing to do?" Amara asked and it was like a breath of fresh air among the silence of all those who avoided to even hint that releasing the princesses _after_ he had been named king might be the safer bet. "I expected that you'd wait," she went on.

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me," he snapped. "Really, which man wouldn't leave his nieces in their prison for another few months to make sure that he gets the greatest prize?"

To almost everyone else – Aegon included, to his great irritation – his anger would lead to hurried denials that it had been their intention at all. Amara didn't even arch an eyebrow. "I thought you liked me because I told you things as they are," she said." Am I supposed to flatter you and gush about the pure whiteness of your soul or something? Just tell me. I'm sure I can deliver."

She rose and came to embrace him. "I don't want a saint, Viserys," she said softly. "I want _you_."

" _I_ might have landed the realm into another crisis." He sighed and embraced her back. "But I couldn't do anything else."

He had failed Daeron. In the last years of Baelor's reign, he had stepped by and let him fail himself out of… what? Weariness? There had been this. Feeling that his efforts to help Baelor were no use, for certain, so he had focused on keeping the realm together, and Baelor had died as a result. _Keep them safe_ , Aegon had begged and Viserys had reneged on his promise. But there was still time with the girls. Even if there was new hostility. Viserys was sure that he could handle it.

* * *

What he was not prepared to handle was Daena's idea of succession. She proposed to wed him – and he was so surprised that he met her proposal with the only reaction guaranteed to win her hatred. He laughed, and stopped when he saw the anger in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It was such a surprise… Daena, you can't be serious. You're a child."

The anger only grew. "I am a woman," she said. "Speaking of children, you were one at the time of your wedding, so it's rich to tell me that I…"

"I apologize," he said, realizing belatedly that she had likely perceived his words as an attempt to shove her into a role of innocence, much like Baelor had. "I meant that you're a child compared to me. You're in your twenties, Daena. I am in my fifties. Really, what kind of life do you think you can have with me?"

"The life of Queen." Her chin went up. "The life I was meant for. Daeron should have wed me instead of…"

He let her enumerate the wrongs done to her and wondered why he hadn't thought about _this_. The Daena he had known from before would have fought him tooth and nail for the Iron Throne, not realizing just how unfit she was to sit it. She already had supporters and Viserys had been surprised by her lack of interest. But it made sense that she didn't want to lose more of her life to a sovereign's duties. What he had not counted on was that she'd still want to be the first lady of the land. The Queen.

"I am a king's daughter," she said.

"You are," Viserys agreed and his eyes went softer. "I love you, just as I loved your father. But what you suggest is… impossible, Daena. It will be cruel of me to impose a shared life on someone as young and vibrant as you. You know that I am one of demands and intolerance."

He had had to learn to be so, else nothing would have ever been done. But _demands_ and _intolerance_ were words guaranteed to make her recoil.

Not now.

"I can manage," she said and he could see that she truly believed it. For a moment, he tried to imagine what she proposed, tried to see her with the eyes of a man. Very beautiful, no doubt… Extremely charming when she wanted to be… Furiously loyal to those she claimed her own… She'd make an excellent wife to a certain kind of man.

Viserys? They'd start hating each other before the first year of their marriage was even over.

"Do you realize what you want of me, Daena?" he asked. "I don't think you do. You only know me as your tedious uncle. You won't like me as a husband."

"You'll be the King," she answered simply and then, after a pause. "Your father was your lady mother's uncle. It isn't this different."

"It's _much_ different," he said. His parents' marriage had allied various claims and grievances against the shared foe. What could his marriage to Daena ally? He had a good idea what would happen at the time of his death – a second Dance of the Dragons because Daena would no doubt give him a son before the year was over. "You think it'll be easy but you're wrong… You're young, though, and so you can be forgiven. Me, on the other hand? There is no excuse."

"Are you doing this because of Daemon?" Daena asked bluntly and Viserys shook his head.

"It has nothing to do with the child," he replied truthfully but unfortunately, she didn't believe him.

"If you hope to take Rhaena to be your bride, I must warn you that she fully intends to become a septa." There was disdain in her voice.

Now, this was a surprise but Viserys would deal with Rhaena later. Right now, it was more important to disabuse Daena of any ideas of a possible marriage. "I intend to take no wife," he said.

"Even the peasant you've been bedding for the last ten years or so?" Daena's face was pale with mortification. "You reject me to force her on the throne? I warn you, the discontent about Alicent Hightower will be nothing compared to this… wasn't this one a Hightower as well, by the way?"

"Only by marriage," Viserys replied, impressed with the research she had done, the efforts to study all possible rivals. So strong was her desire to be queen. Unwelcome pity came to his heart. To her, queenship was the reward life owed her for all the years that had been taken from her. Something she imagined as joyful as riding at the ring. In her confinement, she had forgotten the duties her mother had had to fulfill. The constant watching, the waiting for her to make the smallest misstep so they could turn it into fodder for gossip. The need to sit and smile for hours as people bored her with the most unengaging talks. She remembered none of it. She only remembered that it had been taken from her. "And I have no intention to wed her."

Hope lit her eyes and he knew he had to put an end to it. "I won't send her away," he said. "Don't even think of it, Daena. She stays with me. She is the companion that I have chosen – and you will never be. Just as I could never be your companion in life. I will find you someone worthy of a daughter of Aegon – but you'll never be queen."

She recoiled and her eyes welled up. She blinked the moisture away angrily – like a child who was refused a new toy. "We'll see," she only said, whirled about and strode out. Behind her back, Viserys smiled. Never the one to leave the last word to someone else, Daena was. Much like Baela… and now his own eyes welled up.

In the small house at Rhaenys's Hill, Amara was reading at the table. With an ache in his heart, Viserys saw how hunched she was. "A full bosom is a punishment for the one carrying it," she would say jokingly but Viserys was aware of the pain behind the casual words. In the course of the last few years, back pains had been troubling her incessantly. If he could find a way to take off some of the weight those breasts gave her, he would in a heartbeat. The pleasure they gave him under the covers was so not worth it. Recently, she had also come to realize that perhaps she should not have worn Rhaena's babes against her hip so much. Viserys had sent the Grand Maester to have a look at her but there had been nothing the man could do.

She looked at him and tried to smile. "I'm afraid I'll be a rather burdensome company tonight," she said. "You should go back to the Red Keep, Viserys. It'll be all ouching and self-pity all night long and you need to rest."

For a moment, Daena's image flashed through his mind like a lightning – the fair hair, the flawless skin, the poised stance, the sensuality wrapping every movement of her. She was so beautiful… And left him so indifferent. "It feels better when you ouch to someone else, though, doesn't it?" he asked.

Her smile was like the warmth of a cup of tea down a sore throat. "Yes," she agreed and held out a hand. "It does."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Baelorfan, a_lady, and Riana1, for commenting!

 "If I have to receive another merchant showing me their goods, I think I'll start to scream!"

The words were said very seriously and Viserys was a little surprised that it was Mariah saying them. Usually, she loved seeing fabrics and gems and displaying them on her. Her reluctance only came to show that his efforts to increase trade were paying off, perhaps too well.

"I'll receive them instead of you," Elaena offered immediately and Viserys smiled, a little sadly. Mariah had tasted the sweet wine of being respected and listened to, first as the Prince of Dorne's daughter and then as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She had had her fair share of being dazzling and praised. Was it any wonder that Elaena who was almost twenty one and spent the last ten years in a golden cage was eager to seize it all? "And I'll give them some talk about the prices they want," she went on, to Viserys' shock. He was pretty sure that at her age, Naerys had had no idea that one was supposed to pay when they chose something. "They've really become too overreaching," Elaena went on. "Soon, they'll be robbing us blind as we ooh and aah over their golden fabrics and so on."

"Perhaps I should make you Master of Coin," Viserys jested and the eagerness in his niece's eyes took him aback. Could she… want the office?

"Yes!" Mariah agreed with great enthusiasm. "In Dorne, the castellan of Sunspear is a lady and some of the greatest Lord Treasurers we had were women."

At the sight of his grandfather's face, Daeron chuckled. "Don't worry," he said in a low voice, "they won't make you throw the current Master out."

"For now, at least," Aemon muttered and once again, Viserys realized that with Daeron and his Dornish wife, his son felt far more at ease than he ever had with him.

When he left, Elaena was explaining just how one-sided their trade was and that the Seven Kingdoms would never get the balance right unless they found something that Essos needed.

"She has a great fiscal mind," Viserys realized as he walked towards his bedroom.

"That she does," Aemon agreed. "I wonder where she learned these things. The Seven know it wasn't from her lady companions! But she seems to think of things that never crossed my mind before she said them."

Viserys smiled, pleased to see him in such a good disposition. Lately, Aemon had become more reticent, more serious than usual. And more tired. Winter had come quite unexpectedly and all the pains gathered in this damned Dornish pit had returned with vengeance, although he'd deny it to the last if asked. Not that many dared ask.

"Stay here," he said abruptly. "I can take one of the others."

Aemon shook his head. "It's my turn," he said, voice brooking no arguments. "And they're all busy or out anyway."

For a moment Viserys considered just staying here. But what would that change? Aemon would still stand in front of his door and it was rest that he needed. Even a few days might make some difference but Viserys didn't feel comfortable giving the order. The distance between them was too great already. And if he had to be honest, the choice between having Aemon stand on duty in front of his bedchamber and going over to Rhaenys's Hill after two months of not having seen Amara was no choice at all.

"I'm going to Rhaenys's Hill," he said with the faint hope that his son would think twice. Never before had he taken Aemon _there_.

Flush overcame Aemon's cheeks but he did not hesitate. "We go wherever you say, Your Grace."

The sight of the busy streets and the calls of shopkeepers luring clients to their shops made him smile. He did not remember King's Landing being this busy in years – Baelor's ideas of a life that the gods would like had impeded in more than one way. Five years ago, he had ordered the ceasing of beautifying items, for one… Now, this was one of the most flourishing trades, women making up for all the time they had lost. Of course, as he passed by, people drew apart, muttering and giving him the evil eye. Viserys didn't care. They might think he had had even Aegon murdered, for all he cared. Really, why couldn't everyone just look after their own business? If they placed in their work the eagerness they spared for gossiping, Westeros would soon rival Essos in all things!

The servants were already lighting the candles when he entered, the brief twilight giving way to darkness all too soon. Amara had curled up on her daybed, a smile lighting her eyes up as soon as she saw him.

"Are you tired?" he asked and closed his arms around her with the feeling that this was the first time in two months that he could touch something real.

"Not as much as I expected." She drew back and gave him a long look. "You've done much work, I hear… and I can see."

He nodded. "I have."

His life had been so busy… And so empty. He sat on the daybed with her snug against him and listened to her chatter. Her other life fascinated him, as much as he hated it for taking her away for those months.

"I was a little surprised when you sent me a word of your arrival," he said. "I thought you were coming in another turn of the moon."

"With this winter, I thought it more prudent to come back when I still could," she said and shuddered, as if she could still feel the chill of the journey. "But I wasn't surprised that you came."

As years had gone by, she had become more confident in claiming possession and expectations of him that somehow made him glad. Somewhere along the way, they had silently admitted their reliance on each other and knowledge of each other's ways. But she was still taken aback when she saw Aemon at the door when the servants came in with their supper.

"Why is he here? You've never brought him along before."

"Unfortunately, I couldn't shed him off," Viserys said honestly. "He was assigned to me for today and…"

"And you're just going to let him stand there in the cold? Do you realize just how chilly this house in when I haven't lived here in months?"

That was one of the occasions when Viserys was sharply reminded of the differences in their upbringing. She could never muster the proper respect for offices in the royal household. She only saw the practical aspect of it. "I tried to leave him in the Red Keep," he said tiredly. "But he takes his duties very seriously. I fear that soon, he'll be sick with exhaustion but there is little I can do to prevent it."

"Is it so little?" Her voice was icy. "I can't imagine you'll be pleased if he catches his death from cold in front of this door, no matter how dutiful it is. We're talking about your own son, or have you forgotten?"

Viserys reminded himself that she had barely started to get accustomed with having a Kingsguard in front of her door before she had left. Absence had undone all her progress. But anger kept leaking in. Did she think she cared about Aemon more than he did? By what right did she meddle…

"So you think I should go?" he finally asked, anger replaced by the realization that she was right. Aemon's place wasn't behind this door. When they returned to the Red Keep, he'd order him to retire and have a rest.

"No," Amara said. "I think you should invite him over to sup with us. He looks like he could use some rest and he can guard you, in case I decide to stab you with my knife," she added and smiled.

He hesitated. She had spoken casually and sincerely as always and while he loved her for her caring, he could see the problems as well. "He won't…" He paused.

Again, Amara smiled. "I don't expect of him to treat me as if I were a lady. I forsake this right when I accepted you in my bed. I don't care. I simply want him to get some warmth… and I want you to stop worrying over him," she finished and Viserys tried to remember what he had talked to her about just minutes ago. With her, he felt so unburdened that he didn't think twice before speaking out.

"Come in," he said as he opened the door. "Join us for supper."

Aemon did without saying a word.

Amara didn't try to engage him in conversation. During the meal and later, she kept talking to Viserys about daily things, about the journey, the effects his young reforms already had on Westeros… Following her lead, he pretended that his son was not there at all and while in the beginning Aemon tried to preserve his stance and alertness, soon enough he just went to sleep, lulled by the calm air in the solar and the appealing warmth of the fire. Amara rose.

"He can sleep on the daybed," she said and took her leave.

"Come on," Viserys said softly and helped Aemon rise – the first time he touched him in he couldn't remember how long. "Go lie down."

With Aemon half-asleep, he undid the white cloak, the belt, took off the boots. For a moment, his hand hovered over the shirt. He had never seen the scars Aemon had acquired in Dorne, including the ones from the snake pit. Finally, he shook himself off the impulse, feeling that he'd cross a line his son guarded so jealously and besides, too scared to see them, even now.

"What?" Aemon muttered as Viserys laid him down, and his eyes opened a little more. "What-"

"Go to sleep," Viserys said, taken aback by the sudden rawness in his own voice. "You do deserve some rest. You're so tired."

Something like a smile crossed his son's lips and he was asleep before it was fully formed.

In the bedchamber, Amara had opened a jar of ointment. "Here," Viserys said and started rubbing in in her aching joints. "Let me."

She allowed him to do it with her eyes closed and lips smiling. He held her tight. "Thank you," he said simply but with deep feeling.

She only squeezed his fingers and tonight, his passion for her was as ardent as it hadn't been in years, as it had been in the first night he had come to her room.

* * *

 

There was something wrong in the accounts. Something that did not quite fit. Viserys squinted and read the list anew. Ah! Here it was. "Why are there wages for two Masters of Merriment?" he asked. "I dissolved the office two months ago. There shouldn't be even one and now I'm expected to pay for two?"

The answer rushed to his mind before the steward could even say it; without listening to the hurried explanations behind his back, he strode for the door, crossed the Night Garden, went past the Tower of the Hand and entered the large building south of it. Servants and knights rushed out of his way at the first look at his face and those who couldn't bowed so low that their heads almost touched their knees. Viserys was in no mood to notice them, let alone unleash his anger over their heads.

The two Kingsguard at the door swiftly stepped back to let him in and inside the chamber, the light almost made him blind. It was already late in the morning but the candles burning bright were more than a hundred, it seemed. Viserys stopped for a moment to give his eyes time to adjust and walked to the bed, fury suddenly turning into cold determination. "Get up," he barked.

The girl woke up first and gasped upon seeing the King. Her first impulse to jump from the bed was cut off by what Viserys could only guess was the realization that she was clad in nothing but her own flesh. He didn't give her a second glance. "Rise at once," he said again and although his voice was not raised, something in the tone made Aegon look up.

"My… my lord, I…"

"May I know why you went over my head and employed two Masters of Merriment when I had already erased this ridiculous office out of existence?"

He could see how Aegon's mind raced, trying to find explanation that Viserys was likely to accept. "You gave the order for your own household, Your Grace. I manage mine and a little merriment is never unwanted."

"I can see," Viserys said, disgusted, with a pointed look at the girl. "Stay there," he said impatiently because in her horror that he'd do… what, give her over for beating?... she looked as if she'd fly out of bed and start running, treating him to all the charms he had no need to see. "How long do you plan on spending money to cater about your… entertainments? And spend time, of course. Do you realize that at this time, we should have been in the hall of the Small Council?"

Wisely, Aegon refrained from answering. Viserys didn't need a reply to know that a long day of political discussion did not figure in Aegon's plans. Not now, not ever. He'd only arrive to present the bill for his pleasures to the Master of Coin to be paid.

"You are in luck today," Viserys said calmly. "You aren't needed for the meeting. I'll see you at the evening feast since you never miss those."

As he headed for the door, Aegon asked after him, "How did you get in?"

Viserys turned back and arched an eyebrow. "Why, I waved my hand and they stepped aside. This bedroom is still mine… as is the realm, my son."

He left the bedroom with wide but composed steps. The decision he had been contemplating for some time was now ripe in his mind and along with the peace, it brought him the deep sensation of an admitted failure.

* * *

The peace was even tinier than he had expected. This night, the questions of where he had done wrong to lead to this drove him to madness and in the next weeks made him short-tempered, tired, demanding. He couldn't even tell Amara what he intended out of fear for her safety, so she had to suffer the effects without even knowing what she owed them to. Even when she asked him outright, he didn't confirm but her renewed tenderness towards him told him that she had guessed.

"Where did I go wrong?" he asked her as he turned over in bed. "You've known all of us for so very long, Amara. What could I have done better?"

The question hung in the silence. "I don't know," she finally said. "I think there was always something missing about him. Something damaged. Something that Aemon and Naerys have."

He so wanted to believe her… And still, to his shock, when he pored over the archives and documents that would help him make Aegon's removal from the succession clad in iron, he was still jolted by a sudden thought that perhaps it wasn't _this_ bad. Only, it was.

Now, his obsessive drive to get this out of the way took over his entire life. Even with Amara, he wanted to talk about it and stopped himself with fierce force.

"Don't think about troubles," she would often say. "Think of the good things you're doing! The change of laws will be a fact soon…"

The change of laws! Another time-consuming entertainment. So time-consuming that one night, Amara rose and tugged the papers out of his hands as they ate. "You can eat and read in the Red Keep," she said. "Not here."

He put them aside obediently.

"Are you feeling well?" Amara asked later as they changed for bed, and he looked at her, surprised.

"Yes. Why?"

"You've been rubbing your belly for a while. Are you in pain?"

"No," he said, realizing that it wasn't the whole truth the moment he said it. "I guess it was indulgence at the table."

She came close, frowning. "May I?"

Without waiting for an answer, she placed her palm where his fingers had been just a moment before, and the concern on her face grew. "It's so hard and bloated. Have you seen a maester?"

He laughed. "What for, a sore belly? I'm afraid it's something far more prosaic, my lady. I'm gaining weight with age and the lack of exercise. And I did enjoy my meal quite a lot tonight."

Amara smiled. "Yes," she said, her voice relieved. "That must be it. I'll send for some tea, I know the one that's going to help."

He wanted to protest that there was no need but she'd feel better if she could do something for him. Still, as he went to sleep, he thought he heard her murmur, "Please! Please let it be gaining weight with age," and smiled at his luck of having someone who cared so much as to be disturbed by such a minor complaint.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Baelorfan, Riana1, a_lady, and Golden_Daughter, for commenting!

When the salty sea air carrying storm and threat blew over the galley and filled his lungs, Viserys knew that he'd die. This storm was nothing like the storms blowing over Dragonstone, the storms that were cold and harsh but familiar. The storms that blew in a certain way, making the dragons give an excited roar. This piercing air pierced at his eyes, clawed the skin off his face and when he startled awake, he realized that his cheeks and brow hurt, as if the dream had physically hurt him. Everything about him felt weak and pulsing unpleasantly. The dull ache in his belly had turned into agonizing pain. Blindly, he reached out in the darkness but there was no warm body to meet him, no hand to stroke his forehead. Slowly, he realized that with the Small Council having worked longer than usual last night and the feast having drawn particularly long, he had opted for staying in the Red Keep. A grave mistake. He took a thick pillow, curled around it as best as he could and tried to go back to sleep but pain kept sending him dreams of fears long gone and horrors yet to come.

In the morning, little Baelor refused to go to him, instead giving him fearful looks. _I must look quite the fright_ , Viserys thought as Naerys asked him if he had summoned the Grand Maester. He had called him once, in the beginning. He had no intention to waste time to hear the same advice every day.

"We're going to Rhaenys's Hill," he said after the daily business was over. The feast could do without him just as well, he decided.

Aemon gave him a look of relief and when they emerged in the court, Viserys saw that the guard was there, mounted already, and Aemon's stallion was waiting but for him, there was a litter readied. He glanced at Aemon who looked mildly apologetic. "Please," he only said, in a low voice and Viserys couldn't find it in him to scold him for being presuming. He smiled, albeit faintly, and Aemon visibly relaxed. Indeed, it would feel good to rest all the way.

"Careful," Aemon warned the carriers as Viserys drew the curtains in after entering. "Do not shake him."

While it was mortifying to be cared of like this by his own son, it was soothing as well. Viserys lay down on the long seat and closed his eyes, although he did not fall asleep.

When Aemon helped him to climb out, it was dark already. The journey had taken them a long time and the servants in the house carried some torches outside so they could see. Amara curtsied hastily but he saw the short look of horror crossing her face before she obliterated it.

"Go and have some rest," she told Aemon in an even voice. "We'll see you for supper in two hours if it pleases you, my lord?"

Viserys nodded that it did. Aemon hesitated but followed the command. That was their way now – Aemon would formally be on duty but in fact, he'd spend the evening with them whenever he happened to accompany his father here. That pleased Viserys and he thought it pleased Aemon as well, although with his son, he could never be sure.

"What's going on?" Amara asked as soon as they headed down the hall to their bedchamber. Now that they were alone, she had her arm wrapped around him, like he did for her when back pains would not let her find her balance. He still had his, albeit a little shakier now, but she didn't dare hold him too tightly because she was afraid of pressing somewhere where she shouldn't. His entire body was a faint blur of pain, stronger in some areas. "Did you see the Grand Maester, at last?"

"Yes," he said and as she helped him change into some loosely fitting robes, he told her about the man's advices. Amara rolled her eyes.

"So he doesn't think it's this serious," she said. "If all he would recommend would amount to some basic sense."

The discovery didn't seem to put her mind at ease. As she sat in bed and he lay half-reclined, drinking the tea that soothed his stomach somewhat, he told her about the latest developments.

"Do you think it's wise?" Amara asked with some doubt. "Prince Daeron is wise beyond his years, no doubt, but is he really up to the task of settling the dispute between the lords of the r=Riverlands? He's still so young."

He nodded and even this slight movement caused him some pain. Amara took the empty cup from his hand, helped him lie down, and left him to turn both of them this way and that until he found the position that was most comfortable for him.

"He can manage," he said. "It's tricky but he can do it." He paused and thought some. "I wouldn't send him into the Reach, though," he said. "Not when they'll see him as someone who was enslaved by a Dornishwoman. But the Riverlands? No doubt. I want him to make impression. He can win allies."

"Only a certain kind of them," Amara murmured and he sighed because she was right. Daeron could never win the warlords over. His mind went over to something else. He had been so troubled that Daeron could never win the affections of his bright, vivacious bride of the blooming health, yet it looked like he had. Thirty years later, when the passion of early youth would have passed, he'd still have someone to meet him in the dark when he woke up at night, seeking the warm body beside.

Not so for Aemon. Or Naerys. At the time, Viserys had not thought thirty years in advance. He had seen entering the Kingsguard, wedding without love as protection against the heartbreak he had endured when he had been about their age, the ice claiming his heart afterwards. He had been young then, as well. He told her this and she stirred, as if she wanted to turn to her side and face him. But he felt almost relaxed like this, with her back against his chest, so she only covered the hand resting on her waist with her own.

"I thought I was doing what was best for them, not just our House," Viserys murmured. "I thought I was right!"

"You weren't," she murmured back. "I'm sorry, dear heart, but you weren't."

As always, to hear it confirmed was a blade going straight for his heart but with time, he had realized that Amara loved him as he was. Despite all his mistakes. She wouldn't tell him a lie just to soothe his conscience although she lied to him on regular basis about things like her health, her loneliness, the attacks against her in the streets that had made her reluctant to leave her house. Their relationship had cost her much more than it had given her but she did not see it this way. "Before you, I felt needed but never truly wanted," she would say. "My children don't truly know me; your sister was fond of me but any woman of my character would do. Except for the bedding you part of it, that's it," she'd add with this edge of bitterness that she never seemed able to erase.

Supper was a surprisingly pleasant affair. The three of them talked about casual things, discussing the predictions of an upcoming change of seasons and the tax reform Viserys had implemented. Amara was indeed the best qualified person in Viserys' acquaintance to be the Master of Coin, more than even Elaena, because she combined deep knowledge with the practicality of one who had lived their life making both ends meet. He stuck to the clear broth and plain meals recommended by the Grand Maester and they both kept him company, yet even this way he felt sated too soon. Oversated.

"I don't like the look of it," Amara murmured as she rubbed his swollen belly in the privacy of their bedchamber. "You feel full, you act as if you've overeaten and you're bloated all over, yet you're starving. It can't be right."

He didn't pay any mind to her concerns, even when she loosened everything he wore to give his belly more room to feel comfortable. The fact that he hadn't thought of doing it himself seemed to trouble her even more.

"That's always the first sign that you're very ill," she told him when he asked. "The stubborn denial that there is anything wrong with you. Come on, hold this brick to your stomach. It's hot but I've wrapped it in linen so it won't burn you."

The warmth was a relief indeed. As he drifted off to sleep, feeling her change the cooled brick with a new one, he wondered if he was indeed as stubborn as she saw him.

A few days later, he started to get better. The bloating did not disappear but he no longer felt any discomfort. A couple of times, he was even able to make love to her, instead of surrender to her ministrations. And he decided that her worries had been misplaced.

It was much later that he wondered if someone had decided that his decline was too abrupt, too obvious, and stopped the poison, or if his body had stopped being affected by the usual dose and it had taken a while before it reacted to the increase.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of my commenters and some dark chocolate for those who stayed with me till the end of this not so nice story!

 Aegon arrived from Dragonstone in a dark, grim day, under a grey sky that threatened an outpour, did not quite deliver but hung low enough to impede on the plans of everyone who had intended to go out. From the window of the chamber of the Small Council, Viserys watched the party's arrival and thought with disdain how ludicrous they looked in their bright attires, riding the very best stallions they had, instead of letting the beasts compose after the sea journey. A sea of yellow, red and blue – a flock of peacocks, indeed! Headed by the greatest peacock of all, Aegon himself. In a gold cloak over a green doublet – he really looked like a parrot! Viserys had overlooked it when his son had been seventeen – but thirty-seven?

"Why has he come?" he wondered aloud and whirled back to examine the faces of the members of the Small Council. If any of them had contacts with Aegon behind his back, he'd have to look for a replacement soon. He could put up with a number of things but disloyalty wasn't one of them.

The swift motion made him dizzy for a moment. When his head cleared up, he realized that he could no longer see the men's faces clearly. At this moment, it was just an irritation. He kept working as usual, thinking without enthusiasm that he'd have to receive Aegon soon. At least it seemed that he had had the good sense to leave Naerys behind as Aemon told him quietly when he left the chamber. Fresh into his shift, he had lost no time getting informed about the latest development and was not averse to share them with his father. _What did I ever do to deserve you,_ Viserys wondered, touched by the way Aemon was attuned to his thoughts, his hidden desires even without him voicing them, the way he always tried to make things easier for him. _He was always like this. Always trying to please me, although I so seldom noticed him. He never stopped. Why didn't he when he never received anything back?_ As usually, these thoughts brought shame and regret.

"What time is it?" Viserys asked, noticing the dark spread of the sky beyond the windows in the gallery and the stream of courtiers hurrying to the great hall, only stopping to make a bow.

"Twilight had long faded."

Viserys gave him a look of confusion. He had been sure that mere moments ago, it had been late afternoon. His attempt to recall what he had been doing when daylight had shone last only brought over a mild headache.

"It's too late for the feast now," Aemon said. They were in the King's chambers already, with no one around, so he stepped close and his father leaned against his arm gratefully. "Are we going to Rnaenys's Hill?"

Viserys' first impulse was to say yes but something stopped him. He didn't know what it was. And after the fuss Amara made the last time he was ill – it was the first time he saw her so worried and through their years together she had nursed him through a fair share of mild and not so mild ailments, some of them far more unpleasant than an unsettled belly – he was reluctant to show up with this headache that grew stronger by the moment. "No," he said. "I'll keep to my chambers now."

Little did he know that this was the last time he'd ever see the hallways of Maegor's Holdfast. When he woke up the next day, his head felt like it was stuffed with wool, his shoulders and neck were stiff and his eyes were running. As he read and signed documents from his bed, things improved a little but he got so weary that he put a missive aside for a moment and closed his eyes to better concentrate.

"Are you saying no to me?" Aegon's voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. "You'd better think again, brother! Step away!"

"I've already told you, he's too tired," Aemon answered, although him, Viserys could barely hear. "And keep your voice down. If you wake him up, you'll be responsible before me!"

Wake him up? How silly. Viserys never slept during the day. Not in a work day, not unless he was with Amara on one of their brief escapes when he realized he needed more rest than his one day per week could provide. But the chamber had sunken into semi-darkness and the walls behind the window were not red but brownish.

"I am shaking in my boots," Aegon drawled sardonically but Viserys noticed that his voice had gone down a notch. Typically! "I said, move away!"

"He isn't receiving anyone."

"If he hasn't said that he won't see me, then it doesn't count."

"And if he had said it, it would have mattered?" Now, it was Aemon's voice that was an exercise in sarcasm. "I'll talk to Ser Valin! He should have never let you cross the drawbridge."

The further exchange was so rapid that Viserys had trouble making most of their words. But some time later, Aemon entered the bedchamber with a soft creaking of a door and no footfalls at all. "I'm awake," Viserys said. "Is he gone?"

"May I light a candle?"

"Go on."

A clink, a hiss, a tiny light, and Aemon appeared from behind the bedcurtain. "How are you?" he asked.

"Better," Viserys said, although he wasn't sure. "So, it he gone?"

Aemon shrugged. "You know how he is. The moment someone holds their own against him, he retreats."

_Someone_ , Viserys thought. _One of us, you mean._ "Do you know what he's doing here? Come on, sit down."

Aemon turned back to drag a chair but Viserys said impatiently, "No, sit here."

Slowly, Aemon lowered himself at the edge of the bed, his expression surprised. Viserys was surprised as well but now, it wasn't the time for old regrets. "Do you know why he has come?"

"I am not sure. He won't exactly tell me."

"Do you have any news from Daeron?"

Aemon shook his head. "Only what you receive by the way of ravens… Perhaps Mariah knows."

Viserys considered this. He had the feeling that Daeron's Dornish wife knew far more than she let on but he wasn't sure and besides, she was with child again, and the mother of another who had barely stepped into his leading strings. She shouldn't be engaged in anything like this right now. "Thank you," he said abruptly. "I had no desire to meet him."

Aemon smiled. "I guessed this much. Are we going to Rhaenys's Hill? Do you feel up to it?"

Viserys paused. Looking at himself, he noticed that he was no longer sitting up in bed. When he had startled awake, he had been snuggled down for a long nap, covers up to his shoulders and all. He didn't even remember doing this. _Is my mind this exhausted that I'm forgetting things?_ He wanted to go to the small house, wanted to lie down for a rest in a bed that wouldn't suffocate him with its enormity and solitude. Amara could apply the cures and procedures the Grand Maester had recommended for the summer chill just as well as the man himself. Her presence, calm competence, and the bothers she went through to make it better lifted him up. If he had to be ill, he'd rather be ill with her… but he still shook his head. He didn't know why.

* * *

"Yesterday, he met with the Master of Coin."

"And Lord Bracken, I hear. I'm told Bracken looked very pleased upon leaving his presence."

"What do you think, what has he offered him?"

"Influence," Aemon replied without hesitation. "Perhaps a promise to send the entire House Blackwood in exile and give the land to him."

"But he can't!" Mariah's voice rose a little but she quickly lowered it again. "He can't do such a thing! The Riverlands will be shaken! The Tullys will lose their tenuous control…"

"I am not saying that he's going to do it." Aemon sounded more cynical than usual. "Aegon is big on giving promises of favours. If he'd keep him – well, this is another matter altogether."

"Baelor, no!" Mariah whispered.

"I'll go," Aemon said quickly and his footfalls indicated that he had hurried over to where Baelor was. Viserys heard them very near his chair. Aemon grabbed the little boy. "The King is sleeping."

_He isn't,_ Viserys thought. He had awoken a little while ago but he had pretended otherwise, as demeaning as it was. They thought they were doing right by him by sparing him the unpleasant news. They believed his health was more important to the realm than anything else.

Baelor started protesting and Viserys almost smiled, almost opened his eyes, regretting that he had wasted a visit from them away. But there had been no other choice. Once he got better, once Daeron returned, Aegon would be put in his place, as well as the others. Lord Bracken included!

"Not slip!" Baelor announced and when Viserys opened his eyes, a pair of curious black eyes stared back at him. The little boy laughed in delight and Viserys raised a hand with a pointed finger. Baelor pointed his finger right back, touching the tip of Viserys who smiled.

"You're a good boy," he said and his eyes moved to Aemon. "You too."

It felt so good to finally say it.

* * *

This time, rest did not do him any good. Low fever still persisted, his eyesight kept failing, and that was when he was able to keep his eyes open. Once again, his belly started swelling up and this time, the bloating affected his limbs and neck as well. His chest felt constricted which made breathing harder. Cramps seized his arms and legs, carved a pit of fire in his abdomen. It became harder to turn his head left and right. His skin hurt, taut and as shiny as a newly minted coin. The Grand Maester looked increasingly concern at every visit, changing cures frequently. But the only thing that helped somewhat was sleep. When sleeping, Viserys did not feel the pains this sharply. Unfortunately, they still lay hidden, sending him into the grasp of night horrors.

"Thank you," he said in a choked voice after Aemon had woken him from one such.

"Drink this," Aemon replied, closing his father's fingers around a goblet. No Arbor gold had ever tasted as good as this water. "How are you?"

"Glad," Viserys murmured. "That you woke me."

His son was giving him a strange look. "You were saying something about Lysandro Rogare."

"Was I?" Viserys asked, frowning. Even this hurt. "I must have." He sighed. "I hate memories. Gods, I hate them so much!"

"Would you like some milk of the poppy? It'll help you sleep without them."

Viserys shook his head as much as he could. "I want to keep my wits about me…"

"Are you sure?" In the light of the candle that Aemon had lit at the small table, his face was so desolate that Viserys was moved. He tried to smile.

"Yes. Come here, help me lie back."

Silently, Aemon eased him back against the pillows, pulled the cover over him. "Can I do something for you?"

Viserys hesitated _. Stay here,_ he wanted to say. _Sit with me. Hold my hand._ But he could see that despite his worry, his desire to do the best that he could for him, Aemon did not feel comfortable in this bedchamber, was disturbed to see him like this on a level that he couldn't even start recognizing. And there were things, intimate things that he'd like to have his son do for him but he was thirty five years late to create the closeness Aemon would need to do them without feeling uncomfortable and he, embarrassed.

"Yes. Call someone else to relieve you. There is no need for you to get ill as well."

Aemon nodded. "As soon as my shift is over," he said and Viserys tried to smile again. Did his son think that this made sense? The giant hand pressing his chest closed further.

"That's not what I meant."

Aemon looked like he hadn't heard. Slowly, painfully Viserys reached over and touched his hand. "You have always been a good son, Aemon. Despite having a father like me. You were the son any man dreams of."

Aemon's cheeks paled even more. He squeezed back, careful not to do it too hard. "When I grew up, I understood you, Father. I did."

_Did you_ , Viserys wondered. _Or did you just saw me as I was to all the world – the stability of Westeros personified, the certainty that no matter how much your uncle retired in his rooms, Daeron warred, and Baelor carried out extravagant plans, the realm will not crumble?_ He knew the answer. He had taught it to his children decades ago.

Aemon touched the turgid hand with his lips and paused before releasing it. Viserys felt some dampness against his skin. Was that tears. Painfully, he turned himself on his side to touch the bowed head. "Go and have some rest," he murmured. "I'll be fine."

His eyes closed before Aemon had even reached the door.

* * *

The news of Daeron's upcoming return arrived two days later, or was it three? Viserys had lost his sense of time. "Three weeks?" he asked, just to make sure, and Mariah nodded, the smile never leaving her face.

"I'll start preparing a week earlier, just in case," she said and Viserys smiled at her youthful optimism – at least he imagined that he smiled but it was a grimace that Mariah saw. One was never too old to learn new things – sometimes he felt uncomfortable witnessing such an undisguised love, and between a man and wife no less! As she chased Baelor who giggled impishly because he was already aware that his mother wouldn't take him off the floor or chair, so he felt free to do whatever he liked, Viserys smoothed the parchment absent-mindedly.

His fingers told him something that in the beginning, his mind didn't recognize. A careful inspection later, he realized what it was. The seal had broken too easily and cleanly in two and now, his fingers had felt too many creases. He raised it against the light but his failing eyesight couldn't tell him much. "Mariah, would you please come over?"

She hurried over and followed his instructions, looking at the seal closely. "It had been broken before," she said, her face going pale. Instinctively, she clutched her child to her breast without giving a thought to the one in her womb. It was not real but Baelor was. "Who…? What…?"

For how long had this been going on? How many of his letters had Aegon intercepted? What did he know? "I want all of the maesters put to inquiry," Viserys gasped but when Mariah headed for the door, still holding her son tightly, Viserys stopped her. "No, not you. I'll call someone in office."

Neither she nor Aemon should be involved. If Aegon did ascend to the Iron Throne, Viserys did not want to give him any reason to hate them more than he already did.

He wasn't surprised when this very night, his symptoms got worse. He was only astonished by the speed with which his thought had made the leap from illness to poisoning. To Aegon. He only wondered where the poison was. In his meals? In the water he drank? In the thing he used in his bedchamber?

In the beginning, his reasoning was cool, almost academical. The pain of the betrayal only came later.

* * *

The crack of the door startled him from his sleep. Soft footfalls came to the bed and he felt a mild flare of irritation. The darkness behind the bedcurtains told him that it was deep night and there was no reason for his body servants to come at this time. _It must be Aemon. He_ promised _me that he was going to take this shift off._

A candle came near. The bedcurtain rustled softly and his eyes widened when he saw her. For a moment, he thought he had conjured her out of his dreams, the yearning of his proud and embittered heart. She smiled and he tried to look away from her eyes, not register the expression there. "You didn't come, so I did," Amara said.

He fumbled with the covers. She left the candle at the bedside and helped him move them. Her eyes took in the horror that he was. He slept only in his smallclothes, so it was all exposed for her to see. "I guess you were right," Viserys said lightly, trying not to scare her more. "I should have listened when you first told me I had to summon a maester for a sore belly."

She smiled. "I suppose you were right as well," she said. "You are gaining weight with age. Well, what of it? I still love you."

She was just playing along but his tears welled up anyway. She touched them with her fingers. "Aemon told me that I might like to come," she said. "I can't say I thought twice. Can I do something for you?"

Viserys hesitated, gratitude overwhelming him for a long moment. Aemon had realized that in this time of weakness, his father felt as uncomfortable with him as he did with Viserys but he had found the way to give him relief. Then, uncertainty came. He felt as close to Amara as he had never felt to another human being and yet he was still a little dismayed at the thought of having let her see the ruin that he had become. Admitting that he could no longer take care of such intimate details was downright mortifying, even more than the first time he had failed to satisfy her in bed. She had seen and soothed the wounds of his soul but he had never shown her any physical frailty. Not on this level. _As proud as ever_ , he thought sardonically. _Even as I rot._ For a moment, he almost refused, he was so embarrassed. But then, he looked down at himself. "Would you help me dry myself?" he asked. "It's so hot here."

Amara knew that it wasn't hot, no matter what he experienced. In some part of his mind, Viserys knew that his bloated body was the reason. It now kept more dampness into the skin folds, some of them having appeared just recently with the swelling. More sweat that kept him feeling uncomfortable, mildly but repeatedly. She touched his hand, very lightly. "Do you not want me to bathe you first?"

Without giving his pride a chance to make a strike, she tugged at the cord near his bed. From the small door, almost invisible in the tapestry painted dark by the night, a servant appeared and she gave an order. The man looked at Viserys and when the King didn't countermand her, bowed and disappeared, to return shortly with a basin and a few towels that he left near the bed. Amara took Viserys' hand and started drawing a wet towel from the fingers up. He shuddered. "Is it hot?" she asked immediately. "Am I pressing too hard?"

"A lighter touch will be better," he murmured and watched her as she focused on her work. "It isn't quite what you signed for when you became my mistress, is it?" he said.

She didn't look up. "One can't plan for two years ahead, let alone ten," she answered, matter-of-factly. "I never expected that I'd come to love you so much."

Her hands moved slowly but confidently over his tender skin. He suddenly remembered doing almost the same for her when back pains kept her tossing in bed but limiting her movements anyway, and he couldn't fathom why he had ever felt embarrassed.

"Be thorough with the skin folds," he said and closed his eyes. "This swelling keeps them constantly damp and it's unpleasant."

"I will," Amara said; a moment later he felt the towel on his underbelly. For the split of a second, the cool touch relieved the constant fullness.

She felt his middle and frowned when she felt the wave. His belly was full of water that he could not expel.

"Lay with me," he said and when she finished drying him and started undressing, he was suddenly startled by a fear that went through his tortured body like a deep shudder. "No."

She waited.

"It isn't gaining weight with age," Viserys said. "You know it."

Amara nodded, bit her lip, willed the tears away from her eyes, and touched his shiny hand.

"I don't know what it is," he said. "It isn't safe."

"I am not afraid," Amara said. "Remember, it took you a long time to get to this state. Surely a night or two will be fine?"

Her reasoning was a sound one and still, Viserys knew it was not reason but neediness that let him allow her to lie down, stroke his skin ever so slightly. _Just for tonight_ , he thought to himself. _I'll send her away first thing tomorrow._

* * *

He didn't. In the next few days, she didn't leave his chamber at all. She was there when he went to sleep and when he woke up, the two times she wasn't sending him to mindless panic until she reappeared to tell him that she had just gone to relieve herself. Both times, he felt very stupid. Had he truly believed that she had abandoned him like everyone else at one point or another? It was a sign of the decay of his mind that he succumbed to old fears despite knowing better. They talked, she read to him, familiarized herself with all of the Grand Maester's prescription and made sure that they were followed, bathed him when he became too hot and showed him her embroideries that he could only see from very close. Sometimes, Aemon joined them, all of them pretending that this was just a small indisposition that would pass soon.

At the third day, Aegon tried to have her removed from the King's chambers. Viserys listened to the loud voices, scared that Aegon would prevail… and there would be nothing good for Amara once he left his immediate vicinity. Why, even here, with him, she wasn't safe. Not anymore. She stroked his cheek, cradled his head, and murmured, "It's nothing. Go to sleep."

But he only did so after he was sure that Aegon had gone away. Later, he heard Aemon's voice beyond the bedcurtain, "He's truly determined to have you cast off, my lady."

"He isn't in luck, then," Amara said firmly. "As long as your father lives, no one can drive me away from here."

_I can_ , Viserys thought and told her this much as soon as she reappeared, to have her gasp and withdraw. "Do you _want_ me to leave?"

He looked away from the pain in her eyes. It was for her own good, he knew. He had long made provisions for her in a way that would not let Aegon touch them, no matter what he did, including generous sums in many banks in the Free Cities. Once he died, Amara would be a very rich woman – but not if Aegon laid his hands on her. Viserys relied on his son's mercurial nature. As hard as Aegon had targeted her now, he would lose interest as he did in everything else. _God help the Seven Kingdoms!_ Aemon would help Naerys and Daeron would too – but the realm? And Amara?

"I need you to leave," he told her bluntly. "I think I knew that even when I first became ill again. That's why I didn't come to you when I desperately craved it, I know it now. I wouldn't put it past Aegon to push the blame for my death on you… and you've just greatly helped him by coming here and being the only one caring for me. It won't be this bad, Amara. Away from King's Landing, you'll be a mistress of yourself. You'll be wealthy. You'll be fool if you don't accept this chance."

Would she find someone else? In her youth, she had been considered too poor, too plain for a second marriage. With what she had now, it would be different. Viserys pushed this thought aside. He didn't want to think of another man with her. Even in this state, jealousy reared its head.

She stared at him blankly and Viserys knew the truth. She was too old to have a success in a relationship like theirs ever again, too loyal and heartbroken to wish for one, too tender-hearted to buy the other kind. With his death, she'd be all alone, unneeded and unwanted. But she would _be_.

"You must understand me," he said urgently. "I can't let you take the risk. I can't. Come here now, lay with me. Tomorrow, you're leaving."

Silently, Amara followed his wish and he reached out awkwardly to wipe her tears away. As he lay holding her hand, a memory came to him, so powerful that he was astounded how he could have ever forget. His first memory of this very same chamber, this very same bed. Semi-darkness, a man who agonized in the half-life his girth and ailments had sentenced him to. The first Viserys. How his face had lit up when Daemon had brought his little son to visit him! _Did he ever receive visits from someone, unless they wanted to extract something from him,_ Viserys wondered now. What a cruel place the world was! A cruel and full of surprises. The first Viserys had given so much to so many, yet they had all abandoned him. _He_ had failed to win the fondness of people, even his own children, had not even tried, yet he knew that Naerys prayed for him there, at Dragonstone, and Aemon stood before his door, ready to enter at the faintest gasp. His grandfather had given everything to his second queen whom he had raised from obscurity only for her to leave him rot – both alive and dead – while he had never given anything noteworthy to Amara, yet she was here, stroking his taut skin, feeling that her world would be over without him. It wasn't this bad after all, he thought and closed his eyes, keeping close to the light in his darkness, the one that he would not let die out along with his life.

* * *

**The End**

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Light in the Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741321) by [Golden_Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Daughter/pseuds/Golden_Daughter)




End file.
